The Language of Flowers
by selmak
Summary: For Minerva Fest 2012 - Prompt was - Kingsley and Minerva grow closer after the defeat of Voldemort. Characters include Minerva, Amelia Bones, Elphinstone Urquart, Alastor Moody. MM/AB, MM/EU, KS/AM & MM/KS. Many thanks to Ruth and Kelly for their assistance.
1. Chapter 1

_**-1946-**_

Minerva McGonagall was a smart lass.

Everyone in the village remarked upon it. It was no surprise; none! None at all, that she would be selected to attend the same private school that her Mum, Isobel, had. Why her father, Robert, must be beyond chuffed regarding his smart girl. And if some village wit remarked that Minerva's father, the Very Reverend Robert McGonagall, didn't seem excessively proud of his solemn daughter; it was because he was the very picture of Christian humility.

Minerva McGonagall was a smart lass and she knew that she was the cause of the stress between her father and her mum.

Because she was a smart lass.

And a witch to boot.

So it was a mixture of relief, unhappiness and excitement that the Sorting Hat found when it was placed upon her head. Plus a heaped serving of intelligence, a cauldron of courage and a dash of Presbyterian primness.

A near-record Hat Stall occurred while the Sorting Hat weighed, measured and assessed the young witch on such minutiae as personality, height, hair and eye colour and gender. It debated that the last Hat Stall had occurred some seventy years previous with Filius Flitwick and he had ended in Ravenclaw. Done very well for himself, though he had the most distressing Gryffindorish tendencies. Dueling Champion and all that nonsense.

And while the Sorting Hat had once rested on the very beleaguered brow of the Great Godric Gryffindor, he had remembered far too well how often he, the Sorting Hat, had been maimed, stitched and re-stitched again due to Godric's Gryffindorish tendencies.

Really, the two of them, this Miss McGonagall and Professor Flitwick would get along like cauldrons on fire. They'd develop new esoteric realms of magic, debate theory and just generally cause havoc as they lacked Helga Hufflepuff's good sense for not disturbing what should remain in peace. Rowena and Godric had often harassed Salazar after an all-night bender while Helga had been quite content to leave the dragon in his cave, sleeping off the previous night's excessive exuberance.

Therefore for the world's safety, he decided it best to split the Dangerous Duo apart. That didn't mean that the Sorting Hat didn't have a moment's regret when he saw how Albus Dumbledore's blue eyes gleamed when Minerva was announced as one of his lions.

And the Sorting Hat prayed to the very gods of haberdashery that he'd remain unscathed.

"_**GRYFFINDOR!"**_ announced the Sorting Hat. The young lions made a great deal of noise after that announcement, relishing the chance to make a ruckus without fear of reprisal. Meanwhile, the rumoured eccentric Professor Dumbledore gave her a welcoming smile that didn't seem all that unbalanced considering how crooked his nose was. He nodded his head in encouragement and Minerva carefully walked towards the Gryffindor area. Fortunately, there was another girl among the latest pride of lions. It would only be the two of them against a dozen plus young boys for that year's Gryffindors, but the two girls would develop a formidable reputation for self-preservation by the end of the first month.

"Amelia, Amelia Bones," introduced the other lioness. She had a square jaw, bright eyes and a steady glance. Minerva liked her quite at once.

"Minerva, Minerva McGonagall," Minerva said.

Instinctively, her hand found Amelia's hand. Both young witches seemed surprised that they were holding hands, but not necessarily alarmed. Really, they were away from all that they had ever known, so it was good to have a friend, a bosom friend.

And really, it wasn't that odd, that when one girl softly sniffled in the darkness that first night at Hogwarts, that her new friend joined her in her bed. It was a big bed after all.

- 1953 –

Minerva and Amelia became quite close during their years at Hogwarts. So close that some of their Year mates made disparaging comments about them being a 'couple'. True Gryffindors, Minerva and Amelia handled it in their direct fashion, hexing the entire sorry lot of them and refusing to remove the rather painful and embarrassing hex/curse until the boys apologised.

Sincerely.

Albus Dumbledore called the Amazonian Avengers into his office. His face was stern enough to frighten Boadicea, but Minerva wasn't frightened, not at all! Because Fawkes was sitting on his perch, preening his feathers. If Professor Dumbledore was displeased, Fawkes would have picked up on his agitation.

Well, that's what Minerva reminded herself as a stern Professor Dumbledore took his seat at his desk. He sat down, removed his glasses and rubbed his eyes for just a moment. He then shook his head.

"Headmaster Dippet has requested that I remind both of you terrors that casting a combination of _Furnunculus _and_ Glisseo _is not the best way to handle disagreements with your fellow students. May I ask why you two felt the need to inflict painful bum boils on your fellow Gryffindors? And then sliding them down the staircase? It seems to be a bit of overkill."

Both students stared at the floor and shook their heads.

He tapped his fingers on the desk for a moment; upon his realization that the miscreants would not confess the reason behind their crimes, he requested a House Elf bring them a spot of tea. He had found that oftentimes, tea and cucumber sandwiches prompted confessions from the guiltiest of suspects.

"Are the boys bothering you again?" he asked while he passed them the tray with cucumber sandwiches.

Amelia nodded slightly, just a bare nod that Professor Dumbledore noticed. Minerva refused to let her head twitch, not even a feather's width.

"What did they do this time?" was his next question. "It's quite upset the both of you."

Both witches shook their heads as they couldn't bring themselves to repeat those terrible words to Professor Dumbledore.

"Would you be more comfortable writing it down?"

Both nodded. Being a professor, he had an abundant supply of quill and parchment.

"Write it down."

They both completed their assignments and handed it to Professor Dumbledore. He read them both, somberly nodded his head and then dissolved the parchments.

"I promise you that I will handle this. If comments about your sexual preferences are made, you are to inform me and I will handle it. Immediately. Unfortunately, you will both have detention on Saturday. I cannot permit the Head Girl to require the Hogwarts medi-witch to lance boils for my Seventh Years."

"Detention!" wailed the star Gryffindor Seeker and Chaser in perfect unison. "But…"

"Yes, the Quidditch match will proceed without you both. I do hope that your teammates will uphold the honour of Gryffindor as I have a friendly house wager with Professor Slughorn," was his mild response. "However, since it appears likely that I will be required to "pay up" as you young people might say, part of your detention will require you preparing his winnings. You'll have to prepare the Petrified Agrippa Root… sans gloves."

"That means…." protested Minerva.

"Yes, that means if you are not careful, your hands will be stained emerald green and your finger nails…. silver. Now, you're dismissed."

The two miscreants returned to their dorm room. An upset Minerva had a crying jag and Amelia rubbed her back.

"I don't know why they keep calling us names," she protested.

"You've never had a boyfriend," Amelia explained. "Plus you're loads smarter than they are, because you study all the time. They're jealous. And I turned down Nigel Black's invite to go to the Astronomy Tower to 'help him with his Astronomy'. He got his jimjams in a knot and he decided to take it out on us."

She shuddered dramatically.

"I don't like boys like that…" Amelia explained. Then in a softer voice, "I like girls."

"Do you have a girlfriend?" Minerva asked. "I know Martha…"

She stopped then, uncertain about the feeling of jealousy she felt toward Martha. Was it proper and Presbyterian? Goodness knows Minerva wondered about the feelings that stirred within her heart when Amelia was freshly showered.

"No, I fancy someone who doesn't know I feel that way about her," Amelia shyly confessed.

"Really? Who is it?" was a guileless Minerva's question.

Amelia leaned forward and gave her a quick buzz on her cheek. She blushed furiously and Minerva's mouth dropped open in surprise.

"For someone who is so smart, you're really quite dense," Amelia admitted.

The two young women stared at each other for a moment and then Minerva kissed Amelia on the lips. It was a quick kiss, and then she broke away from Amelia. She stared at the floor, her heart pounding. What would her father, the Minister, say? She had kissed a girl!

And she had rather enjoyed it!

– 1956 –

"Why do you always pin your hair back? Is it because _**Mr. Elphinstone Urquart**_ prefers it that way?" Amelia Bones asked Minerva, deliberately stressing his name. Amelia was lying in their bed in the small flat they shared, little caring that she needed to be at work in fifteen minutes. It was easy for Amelia, as she kept her hair short. Not so for Minerva, as she kept her hair long.

Minerva shook her head. "Are you _**jealous**_ of Mr. Urquart?"

"You speak of him in such rarified terms, traditionally reserved for the great Albus Dumbledore," explained Amelia.

Minerva pursed her lips in slight, instinctive disapproval. In the two years since Amelia and she had begun their careers at the Ministry, Amelia seemed to have changed. In minute, but still noticeable ways, such as no longer sharing Minerva's high esteem for Albus Dumbledore. And her comments about Mr. Urquart! For some reason Amelia truly disliked Mr. Urquart, who Minerva believed was a dear, sweet man. If Minerva didn't know better, she'd believe that Amelia was _**jealous**_.

"It seems that is exactly how you formerly spoke of your father. Well, until little Edgar showed up in the broom closet," teased Minerva.

"I cannot believe that my parents were still doing it! At their advanced age!" Amelia insisted. "My father had just turned…. forty two!"

Amelia turned onto her belly and kicked up her stocking clad heels.

"When were you planning on mentioning your owl from Dumbledore?" Amelia asked. Her voice was strangely intense.

That blasted owl. How had Amelia known about it? Unless Amelia was keeping an eye out on Minerva.

"When you mentioned the fact you had tea with Lillian," retorted Minerva. "You were too busy to have tea with me, but you and _**Lillian Rogers**_…."

"Just keeping up appearances," explained Amelia. "One must not let the sainted Mr. Urquart know that you're involved with me. It will ruin your chance for promotion."

Good Lord, not that again! Minerva quickly prayed to God that He'd excused Minerva taking his name in vain but Amelia seemed fixated on the promotion that Minerva had refused. Minerva hadn't refused because of their relationship, but because she was rapidly discovering that what had once appealed to her (London), no longer held the same allure it once did. No, her thoughts were turning towards Scotland, her dreams full of the Highlands, Tiree and Inner Hebrides.

"Our relationship is not the reason why I refused the promotion," protested Minerva. "I don't particularly care for London."

London was just too much.

Too noisy.

Too close together.

And the small flat she shared with Amelia seemed to get smaller and more confining every day. She loved Amelia, adored her with every ounce of her being, but ... they seemed to be growing apart. Amelia seemed to have fallen in with a new, wilder Pure Blooded crowd… Amelia who spoke of _**Lillian**_ the Pure Blooded so _**admiringly**_… what with her social connections… how the two of them were going to change the world… the _**Magical**_ world. While Minerva, the half blood, was content to have her teas with Mr. Urquart; a quiet, dear man who reminded her so much of her father in the considerate way he spoke and dealt with his fellow Ministry employees. She enjoyed their teas, and was fascinated by their conversations. He was _**brilliant**_. And his sense of humor? Terribly, terribly wry.

And Mr. Urquart was becoming a large bone of contention between them. Really, did Amelia have to incessantly comment on how, the one day Amelia had actually been early for work, she had noticed that Mr. Urquart had stopped in front of one of the large mirrors in the Ministry Main Hall in order to preen? That he had attempted to hide the grey at his temples and in his beard before he had entered the Ministry? That he had straightened his robes?

Because Minerva had _**already**_ noticed how he tried to conceal his greying hair. Fortunately, it was done with slight of hand, nothing as drastic as a Darkening Hair Spell. And she thought it quite a shame, as she truly liked his greying temples and the touch of silver in his beard.

Really, with his kind eyes and crooked smile, what woman would be turned off by a little bit of grey? And yes, he was unmarried at his advanced age! Minerva had learned in passing that his parents had died during the Spanish influenza pandemic, leaving a very young Elphinstone to raise his younger three sisters by himself. Perhaps that was why he had never settled down when he was younger, because he had no time for courting when struggling to keep them fed, clothed and on the correct side of the law. But now with all three sisters married, it seemed odd that he wasn't stepping out with anyone. Goodness knows he had used Minerva at more than one Ministry function to deflect the more determined admirers that his sisters had foisted upon him.

Perhaps he had someone he fancied. That would explain a great many things.

So, if he did have a lady he secretly fancied, why ridicule him? If he was too bashful to admit it, hopefully the lady in question would realise what a diamond he was.

"Was it a job offer from dear Dumbles? I saw that there is a posting at Hogwarts," was Amelia's next comment. "I don't wish to relocate to Scotland."

"No, you don't have to move to Scotland," snapped Minerva.

"Well, yes, it would be hard to explain me at the rectory, wouldn't it?" snapped Amelia. "I'm the Minister's daughter's lesbian lover. Destined for hellfire!"

"At least my father knows you exist. I still haven't been introduced to the truly-not-that-old Gareth Bones because you're ashamed of me." Minerva sharply retorted. "I'm leaving. I need to get to work on time. I don't have a Lillian to overlook my tardiness."

Her snippy comment about Lillian had caused Amelia to apologise sincerely. There had been a great deal of kissing and tearful reassurances that they both loved each other very much. Sincere promises that they'd work on their issues had been made, but Minerva had noticed that their arguments were increasing in frequency. Yes, they had made up, properly, but Minerva was coming to the sad realisation that things were just not the same as they once were. Their relationship was no longer as easy as it had once been, but required a great deal of work.

And damn her for being a fool, Minerva was wondering if it was worth the energy. Not with an Amelia who was growing more distant, whose political views were sufficiently out of sync with hers to cause flare ups. They both wished to change the world; however, Amelia believed being part of the system was the best way to bring about change. Minerva was beginning to believe that adult minds were too inflexible to accept change, so it was best to influence young minds.

"Miss McGonagall, you seem upset. Let's have a spot of tea," Mr. Urquart insisted. He made no mention of the fact that she was terribly, terribly late… a whole fifteen minutes! And that her eyes were red-rimmed as her attempts at a Perk Up spell had failed.

That did it, she proceeded to sob uncontrollably after he handed her a freshly laundered handkerchief. Mr. Urquart did a nice bit of magic, a Do Not Bother spell that encompassed the entire office and then he sat down. "Let it out, my dear girl," he insisted.

She scriked like a homesick firstie, and he said not a word when she admitted that Amelia and she were lovers. Not a furrowed brow of disgusted disapproval, but instead there was understanding and compassion in his brown eyes. He had known… and not cared a lick.

"Hogwarts sweethearts?" Mr. Urquart asked. "First love?"

A sniffling Minerva nodded.

"I would surmise that you two are growing up and apart. It happens." His voice was mild and free from condescension.

"But I _**love**_ her," Minerva softly protested.

"And I'm quite sure she loves you. However, she adores London, you don't. You long for Scotland, she doesn't as Amelia is from Sussex. I'm Scottish, I can understand the allure of Scotland. Amelia Bones believes that she can change the system by being in the system; you wish to change the system by changing people. You are not happy here with me. Therefore, Miss McGonagall, I wish you to take the job at Hogwarts. Submit your resignation. And yes, I know about the job offer from Professor Dumbledore. At first, I was rather vexed that he was attempting to lure away my best worker, but now it truly might be what you need."

She slumped into the chair and wiped her eyes with the back of her hand.

"A slight separation may ease the current stress in your relationship," he repeated. "And as for Gareth Bones, I always found him tolerant and progressive in his views. I'm quite sure he's aware of his daughter's inclinations and is waiting for her to feel comfortable enough to broach the matter with him. Even though we live in these enlightened times, some witches and wizards much prefer the 19th century."

He shook his head in disapproval.

"Please keep in touch, my dear girl. Perhaps, if I'm in Scotland, we might have a spot of tea?" It was a polite request combined with a slight smile.

"Yes, _**please**_, Mr. Urquart."

Truly, she would miss him.

"No. No. You no longer work for me, so please call me Elphinstone. Actually, call me Finn. Who in their right mind, calls their son, _Elphinstone_? I think there was a family member with money that someone hoped to impress." Mr. Urquart, no, Finn, shook his head.

– 1976 –

Auror Trainee, hopefully soon to be Junior Auror Kingsley Shacklebolt, adjusted his kufi and stood at attention. In a few minutes, he'd be given his final assignment. A two year field internship with a seasoned Auror.

_Don't let it be Alastor Moody. Don't let it be Moody._

Alastor Moody was astray in the head, a raving nutter and his reputation for breaking Auror Internees was the very stuff of legends. Nobody in recent recorded history had survived even six months with Alastor, let alone the full two years.

"Hopefully, I'll get your father," Kingsley told his fellow trainee Edgar Bones.

Gareth Bones had an easy laugh, a quick wit and unflappable disposition. He was also the only known survivor of the severe hardship known as the Moody Field Internship. Senior Bones was also the only person that could calm Alastor Moody when he went on a tear.

It wasn't just that. Well, a great deal of it was exactly that, but also Gareth Bones was fatherly. He and Edgar's mum, Susan, had all but adopted the orphaned Kingsley after the first time Edgar had brought his fellow, itinerant trainee home from the Auror Trainee Hall for a holiday. Kingsley even got his own overloaded care packages from Susan, full of homemade goodies. And Gareth would make gentle suggestions, how to hold one's wand, how to handle oneself in a certain situation, the best way to handle a curmudgeonly instructor.

"Kingsley?" Rufus Scrimgeour announced. "I'm delighted to inform you that your mentor will be…"

Really, Rufus' smirk was enough warning for Kingsley.

"Alastor Moody."

The Ministry Malcontent, the Living Legend, the Terror of Trainees and all around Hairy-eyeballed Hardchaw growled his disapproval. Alastor Moody looked Kingsley up and down, estimated the number of teeth he possessed, noticed the earring with a slightly critical frown, and arched a bemused eyebrow at Kingsley's dashiki influenced robes.

No… no… Alastor Moody didn't make a dry comment about "I didn't realise today was fancy dress day at the office?" He had been just loud enough so only Kingsley could hear him.

Bloody Paddies. Thought their culture was the only acceptable one. Least Madman Moody didn't paint his body blue and prance around the office in the all together.

Wait, Gareth Bones had overheard the comment too, as his eyes had flicked between Moody and Shacklebolt and then back again to Moody. While Gareth's face was expressionless, his eyes were dancing. In amusement. Which meant…. Alastor was pushing Kingsley's buttons to see him if he'd implode or explode.

Wonderful. Two years of Moody was probably akin to two years in Azkaban. Except there was a higher survivor rate for Azkaban.

"Well, you're my trainee. Pack your kit, I anticipate that you'll be on my doorstep in one hour or I'll give you the what for."

Then the Bastard Moody Disapparated, leaving Kingsley wondering where the hell Alastor Moody lived. As part of his internship, Kingsley Shacklebolt would move into Moody's residence for the remainder of his training. If he succeeded in finding the bloody house. The Grizzled Grouch, the Perturbed Paddy, hadn't bothered to tell him where he lived, except that he anticipated that Kingsley would be on time. Then the berk left after not even giving him the expected arrival time.

Gareth Bones tapped him on his shoulder. Then with a tilt of his head, he motioned for Kingsley to follow him away from the crowd.

"No need to tell me, you're not happy with your assignment. Blame me, I told Rufus to put you with Alastor," he softly explained. "Moody's Fire personified - the living embodiment of Agni, the Hindu God of Fire. You're the first true Earth trainee we've had… well… since me. He needs someone to balance his Fire or else Alastor will self-flambé."

"His trainees…" Kingsley began.

He earned a one armed hug from Gareth.

"Look, Kingsley. You're like a son to me. Fortunately, you arrived on my doorstep fully grown and not in need of nappy changes. I wouldn't request you get assigned to Alastor, if I didn't believe that you are fully capable of handling yourself. Alastor is a good man. All fire, no manners, but a good man. You can learn a great deal from him. More than if you interned with Pius Thicknesse. He'll show you the taverns; Alastor will show you how to know right from wrong, even if it disagrees with the official Ministry line. We need more people like Moody, but it would be of more benefit if they weren't Agni. He means well. He does. But he's been in the field, solo, for too long. And Alastor is a _**drinking**_ man."

Gareth Bones put both hands on Kingsley's shoulders.

"Promise me, be Earth. Fire transforms us, Earth renews us. Kingsley, I fear we live in very dangerous times. I fear that we will need Earth to rebuild what remains after the Fire has burned out."

– 1979 –

"Get up," growled Alastor Moody to his no-longer intern but now full partner Kingsley Shacklebolt. Kingsley was in the midst of _The Quibbler's_ crossword puzzle, pondering about a seven letter word for a creature that infested mistletoe and was repelled by radishes. Let's see… seven letter word, starting with N…third letter was R. "We're going. Something has happened to Gareth. Something bad. _**Really**_ bad. We're going in wands blazing."

Long used to Alastor's idiosyncrasies, an unquestioning Kingsley dropped his crossword and followed Alastor. The older Auror limped to the Debarkation Point, the one area that was sufficiently unwarded to permit Aurors to Disapparate from inside the Auror Office.

"How bad?" Kingsley asked.

"I think he's only got a few minutes," admitted Alastor in a soft voice. In a louder, commanding tone, "Rufus, you need to send a squad to the Bones residence."

"What?" Head Auror Rufus Scrimegour asked. "A _**squad**_? Why?"

"I read my tea leaves. Just _**do it,**_ Rufus," Alastor roared. "Actually, send TWO."

"Alastor, must I remind you of the last time I assembled a full squad for you?" Rufus asked. "Are you even _**sober**_?"

"Claim it's a _**drill**_," growled Alastor. He grabbed Kingsley by the forearm and Disapparated from the office.

The duo arrived in _**Hell**_, a small room where they were backed into a corner by thirty Death Eaters. A bleeding Gareth Bones was standing over the prone form of his son, Edgar. The Senior Auror was casting the wild and desperate hexes of a man determined to pay Charon's fare with as many souls as he could bring along for the ride.

"Grab Edgar and go!" Alastor roared as he began casting.

"Can't. Warded," gasped Gareth as he threw another underhanded hex.

"That's cheating!" Alastor, firm believer in fair play, bellowed before he blew out a wall with an underhand gesture. "So we're leaving!"

Kingsley could never explain exactly what happened next. He had grabbed Edgar then had been pushed out the gaping hole in the wall that hadn't previously existed. Freefalling for a moment, he heard Alastor screaming something even while his mind only registered, "_**OH MY GOD –GROUND APPROACHING**_ _**FAST!"**_

_**BAM!**_

The four of them landed on Rufus Scrimgeour's once pristine desk. It was a personal quirk of Rufus that he always cleared his desk before he left at night.

Kingsley landed on top of Edgar and he realized why Edgar didn't complain when he looked at his sightless eyes. Alastor was on top of him, crushing him as the older Auror outweighed him by a few stones, plus Gareth was on top of Alastor. Moody shifted his weight, as he struggled to get off the desk without jarring Gareth.

"Edgar?" whispered Gareth. "Edgar?"

"He's _**fine**_," Alastor's normally harsh voice was soft and soothing. Kingsley had heard that tone only once before, when Alastor had comforted a dying Auror. Oh, dear God, no, not Gareth _**AND**_ Edgar. Not on the same day. Not on the same sortie.

"Kingsley's taking care of him. We'll get him to the Healer, Gareth."

It wasn't a lie. The Auror Healer, Maxwell Forrester, was also in charge of funerals.

"Susan?" Gareth's voice was getting softer.

"I told Rufus to send two Squads to your residence," Alastor explained.

"Tell … family…. I love…." Gareth's voice stopped just as Rufus entered his office. A sharp intake of breath was heard when Rufus realised that both Auror Bones had completed their last assignments.

"Three squads to Auror Gareth Bones' residence," Rufus crisply ordered. "Auror Proudfoot, you will be in charge. Now go! Someone get Max and tell him he's needed in my office. "

"You didn't send them?" Alastor asked. "You didn't send them?"

"I sent them, Alastor. I did. But if both Auror Bones were taken down, then those two squads may be in dire need of assistance. Let's get Gareth and Edgar presentable. I'll stand First Watch while you and Kingsley get checked over. Since you were there, I'll want both of you to do the Final Watch for our brothers."

– 1979 –

"Miss McGonagall," Albus Dumbledore began. He stopped, and then continued with a soft, "Minerva."

Not his usual timbre. His blue eyes were sober and Fawkes was mournfully chirping.

"Is it my father?" Minerva asked. Really, it was her first thought as Robert McGonagall was in his late sixties and a Muggle after all.

"No. No, it's regarding Amelia Bones. I know you two were close during your Hogwarts' years. The Death Eaters went after her family. Both Auror Bones were killed and… so was Susan Bones, Edgar's wife Catherine and their three children."

Her heart skipped three beats and then it jolted back into a syncopated rhythm. While it had been years… decades… since she and Amelia had been a couple, there still existed a certain fondness. One sided, perhaps, but Minerva still thought of her.

"Amelia?" she whispered.

"She's alive. It appears that they only went after the Bones family members who were in the Order and their immediate families."

Minerva nodded her head. Knowing Amelia as well as she did, she would loudly proclaim to all that 'Dumbledore's Vigilantes' were the cause of death.

"That leaves Alastor Moody as the sole insider in the Ministry," she reminded Albus. She didn't struggle very hard to prevent her bad opinion of Mr. Alastor Moody from colouring her tone. She had _**liked**_ Gareth Bones a great deal after she had finally met him at the Order of the Phoenix's meetings. However, she had found Alastor Moody to be distinctively lacking when compared to Gareth and Edgar Bones; in key areas such as sobriety and sanity.

"I know you disapprove of Alastor," was Albus' mild response.

"He's a bloody alcoholic," she snapped. "Paranoid and downright delusional!"

"He's never been inebriated at any of the Order meetings," Albus reminded her.

"The Prewetts' Funeral? Caradoc Dearborn's wake? He was utterly pissed," protested Minerva.

"Your Presbyterian morals are bleeding through your tartans," was Albus' final comment on the subject of one Alastor Moody.

– 1979 –

Minerva McGonagall was quite angry when she realised that Alastor Moody was bloody bawsed. For the funerals, he was standing in a place of honor, the Final Watch over the assorted Bones' coffins along with a younger Auror. And he was drunk! It took a moment for Minerva to realise that the younger Auror was Kingsley Shacklebolt – one of her multitude of former students. She couldn't be blamed for not immediately recognising him, as the former Slytherin once had hair. A great deal of it, she remembered. Not now, as he was as clean shaven as a billiard ball. He stepped in front of her before she reached Alastor Moody, as though she was in need of protection from a drunken, crazed Auror.

"Professor McGonagall," he said. His voice had deepened since he left Hogwarts.

"Auror Moody is bloody _**pissed**_," she hissed.

"That he is," was his response. "However, he's functioning. Leave him be. You try to remove him and there will be issues. And speaking of issues, here they come in the form of Madam Amelia Bones."

A grief stricken Amelia Bones bore down on Minerva McGonagall. Her face was ravaged by grief and her eyes were fiery. And following in her wake, was _**Lillian Rogers, **_wearing black like she was a family member.

"Why are you here, Minerva? I was anticipating that Professor Dumbledore would be here, or does he not attend the funerals of his vigilantes? I warned my father and I warned my brother to watch out for Albus Dumbledore. He skirts the law and this is what happens. My father and my brother _**died**_ because of Albus Dumbledore." Amelia's tone was harsh and accusatory.

"Madame Bones," interrupted a familiar voice. It was a heavily greying Elphinstone Urquart who spoke. "May I offer my condolences on the death of your father and your brother? Your father and I were close friends since our days at Hogwarts. And your father and your brother died because they were Aurors facing overwhelming odds. Do not cheapen their deaths by crediting another person. They knew what being an Auror meant."

Amelia Bones shook her head. "I spoke with Rufus Scrimgeour about their deaths. They weren't out in Galway on Auror business; they went out on their own. I'm assuming that it was in reference to Albus Dumbledore because Senior Auror Moody knew exactly where to find them."

She walked up to Alastor Moody and poked him once in the chest. "Their deaths on your soul, Senior Auror Moody. I pray that they haunt your waking hours."

Madame Bones tilted her head and then sniffed.

"You're _**polluted**_," she whispered, her voice shaking in her fury. "Were you at the local pub when my father needed you? Or where you sleeping one off?"

"I didn't know what they were doing," protested Moody. His voice was firm and remarkably clear. "I was in the office."

"Then how did you know where they were. You yelled for help, ordered a squad to my parents' home and pulled your partner to the very spot my father was. _**How did you know**_**?** If this wasn't common knowledge to Albus' Vigilantes…" Minerva earned a sharp, disapproving look from Amelia at that comment. "_**HOW DID YOU KNOW WHERE MY FATHER WAS**_**?**"

Alastor Moody shook his head. "Amelia Bones, no. I will not tell you, not _**here**_, not while your mother and father are lying in an eternal embrace in their coffin."

Silence fell and Minerva saw Rufus Scrimgeour motioning for two Aurors to replace Alastor and Kingsley.

"Christ," swore the sharp as a tack Amelia. "He was your _**Trainee**_. You did it the old way, didn't you? _**With my father**_**?** He was your _**Eromenos**_?"

"Amelia, your father didn't meet your mother until after he earned his Auror Badge. Let it go, Amelia," ordered Elphinstone.

"I don't want you here, Auror Moody. I don't want my father's Erastês standing guard over my mother's coffin. And I certainly don't want you here, Minerva, as Dumbledore's proxy. Take Mr. Urquart and leave."

– 1979 –

Kingsley Shacklebolt watched in silence as Alastor Moody poured himself a drink. It was Moody's fifth shot in the hour since they had been all but forcibly removed from the Bones' funeral. Kingsley was still sober as he hadn't had so much as a drop of alcohol.

"I loved him," the older Alastor softly admitted. "Back then, it was done the old way. It was… five years of internship and… I never broke the bond. Gareth knew… and…when he was attacked, he screamed for me, because he knew… I'd _**hear**_ him. I felt him die. He gave everything he had in that final fire fight to ensure that I'd get Edgar's body back home. So I could get a squad to his house to save his wife. And it wasn't enough."

The older man broke down in tears then, raw and soul shredding. Uncertain of what to do next, exactly, as Kingsley had developed more than a modicum of respect combined with a fierce fondness for the ornery Auror. He knew how it would end if he embraced Alastor. And while he'd welcome it, as he fancied Alastor, he wasn't sure what the reaction would be when Alastor woke.

Well, time to take off his pants and do it for England. Or in this case, for a guilt-crazed, grieving, drunken Auror.

He embraced Alastor tightly and when Alastor kissed him, he kissed him back.

– 1979 –

Minerva allowed Elphinstone… no, Finn… to escort her from the room. She leaned heavily on his arm, greatly appreciating his rock solid support.

"Don't be angry with Amelia," he softly requested after they Disapparated back to Hogwarts' Main Gate. "She's grieving right now and lashing out at everyone. Especially those closest to her."

"You are far too compassionate and understanding for your own good," Minerva said quietly. Then she tightly embraced the older man. "And for my own good, Finn."

They hugged for a bit, Minerva finally allowing herself the luxury to snuggle into his arms. A long-delayed decision was finally made, before Minerva looked up at the taller wizard. "Yes," she simply said.

He ceased embracing her and pulled away from her. "_**Yes?**_" he softly repeated. His crooked smile was hopeful.

"Yes. My father can perform the wedding and I'll move into your little rose covered cottage in Hogsmeade. I'm keeping my maiden name as I am too attached to it to change."

"I would never ask you to change for me. I also never thought I'd be saying this, but no, I will not marry you. Not if you're on the rebound from Amelia," he protested.

"Amelia and I are long over. As I have got older, I finally realised that the ability to have a deep conversation with someone I respect…" Minerva began.

Finn rolled his eyes, a most ungentlemanly response. Well, he was _**male**_. He was doomed by that extra appendage.

"And care for deeply is a most remarkable gift," she admitted. "Elphinstone…. Finn… my dear, _**dear**_ Finn, you've been so patient while you've waited for me to mature. For me to see what I've truly desired has been here all along."

"Of course, I would be patient. It's always been you for me, Minerva. I set my cap for you since you first walked through the office door to interview for the position. You were such a marvel that I found myself entranced, damning myself for being a dirty old man. Though, I must confess that lately I was becoming discouraged with my continual pursuit." He gave a shaky laugh. "You, being in the flower of youth, with me fast approaching the state of acute decrepitude."

Now, it was Minerva's turn to arch her eyebrow. Then her disapproval softened as she realised he was truly quite concerned. He _**wasn't**_ Amelia, fiery and passionate, intent on changing the world. He was Finn, a solitary, introspective gentleman, content with a cuppa, a good book and an intelligent conversation. She loved them both, but in very different ways.

"Marry me, Finn?" Minerva asked. He nodded once, removed his glasses and wiped his eyes.

"I received permission from your father decades ago, but I should speak to him again," Finn confessed.

"You know my father?" Minerva asked.

"I actually know both your parents. When you first started working for me, I owl'd your mother, asking if your father would like to meet your new employer. Since Robert is a Muggle, I thought he'd be concerned and rightfully so about his daughter working in Wizarding London. I quite like your father; he's a great deal like you. Isobel, however, was quite alarmed by my age, and it took a great deal of convincing from your father to gain her permission to court you."

Truly, the Pure Blooded Finn was from another age, as he had asked her mother's permission to court her?

"You asked my mother permission to court me?" She didn't realise that she had spoken that out loud until Finn nodded his head.

"It was a few years after you left for Hogwarts. It took a good five years for her to agree."

"1967?" Minerva asked. "It was the day I accidentally met you in Hogsmeade. Tomorrow morning, we'll both speak to my parents. However, I wish to spend the night with you, Finn."

She kissed him while he protested. Well, yes, Minerva McGonagall was a proper woman, a lady and… well… while it was sweet that Finnie was the perfect gentleman, she _**was**_ in the flower of youth. Plus once they were married, she wasn't planning on reading books every single night. Or playing go.

And truly, they had been officially courting – with parental permission! – for over a decade! It was past time to take it to the next level. And now, Finn's Old World, Pure Blooded traditions be damned, the next step wouldn't be done with parental permission.

"Well, there are certain formalities that must be observed," he told her as he knelt before her. From one of his pockets, he pulled out a small box and opened it. "Will you do me the honour of marrying me?"

She nodded and held out her hand. Amazingly enough, the ring fitting perfectly. That done, Finn got to his feet and then gave her a very shy smile.

"What now?" he asked.

"I think a kiss would be appropriate," she prompted.

It was a _**proper**_ kiss, which meant it was _**completely**_ inappropriate for Minerva McGonagall, spinster Professor at a Magical Boarding School. There was tongue and hands in not such proper areas …. Being a quite proper kiss between two betrothed, it made Minerva McGonagall, newly engaged, wish for somewhere private.

Quite Private.

With no CHILDREN nearby.

And well yes, that included Albus Dumbledore, Filius Flitwick and Horace Slughorn. Thank you very, very much.

"Take me home, Finn. Take me to _**our**_ home," Minerva clarified.

She didn't smile when he dropped the keys to the cottage or when he fumbled with unbuttoning her blouse. However, Minerva did smile when she shyly admitted to him that up until then, she had never been with … a man.

"I may not know what to do with you," she admitted. It wasn't quite the truth, as she had done The Talk for umpteen years, yet it wasn't a lie either, because… really, after waiting for so long, didn't Finn deserve… "To make it worth the wait."

"Matters not to me, dear. For I have such lovely, lovely ideas," Finn told her before he gave her another proper kiss.

– 1979 –

Alastor Moody got out of the bed, not even bothering to wrap himself in a blanket. No, he was utterly starkers as he staggered towards a nearly empty bottle of Scotch. He poured himself the remainder and he quickly swallowed it. The morning greeted appropriately, he then collapsed into a chair and put his hands on his head. Kingsley could hear the older Auror roundly cursing himself.

Kingsley pulled himself to the end of the bed, made damn sure to cover himself with a blanket as he was saluting the dawn in the traditional manner.

"A little early for a nip, isn't it?" Kingsley kept his voice soft, but he was more than a bit concerned. He had known that Alastor was a drinker but he hadn't known the extent. Yes, most of the older Aurors were too comfortable with the bottle, but Kingsley had never known that Alastor was a highly-functional alcoholic.

His comment earned a jerk from Alastor.

"Christ, you're _**real**_," spat Alastor.

"I hope so, you buggered me all last night," stated Kingsley. "Do you have many sexual fantasies regarding me? You must if you're surprised that I'm real. I feel flattered."

"I called you _**Gareth**_," growled Alastor.

In the middle of the night, when a groggy Alastor had discovered he was not alone in his bed, there had been a plaintive whisper of "Gareth?"

Well, Kingsley would give him points for acknowledging it.

"That you _**did**_," Kingsley easily admitted. "What now?"

"Brekkie?" Alastor offered. It was a half-hearted offer as Alastor plainly wished Kingsley to disappear.

"Sounds delicious." Kingsley then stretched, permitting the blanket to fall to the floor, allowing Alastor a free show. "Let me wash up and then we'll have brekkie. And Alastor… don't you try to Oblivate me. Or put something extra in my eggs."

Alastor had a hungry look in his eyes but his voice was soft, "Put that away before you poke someone's eye out."

– 1988 –

Her husband embraced Minerva and gave her a very warm smile. She reached up to him and smoothed down his now white hair.

"I'm glad you have a Time Turner so you're not late for Hogwarts. Professor Dumbledore would give you detention for being late," Finn solemnly stated. "There would be probably thousands of lines too."

"I shall not let my husband waylay…" Minerva began in overly enunciated tones that she saved exclusively for dispensing lines to her multitudes of miscreants.

"_**Waylay**_?" Finn interrupted. "I did no such thing. Waylaid - it implies that you were not a completely willing participant. That I tricked or coerced you into going astray."

"…waylay me into sexual congress when I have a staff breakfast at seven in the morning," Minerva stated primly.

"I prefer, 'I shall remember that my husband is only human. I will not tease him by being utterly alluring, for it makes him eager and keen to prove his everlasting love for me'." He hugged her once more and she snuggled into his embrace, enjoying listening to his heartbeat, the smell of his cologne. "I love you with all my heart, dearest Minerva."

"I love you, too. What are your plans for today?"

"I ordered a new hybrid rose bush for the garden," he admitted. "Now don't give me such a stern face of disapproval. My rose garden is my only vice, dearest."

"You spend more time on your roses than you do me," teased Minerva.

"Don't be stroppy as you know my roses remind me of you. All those beautiful flowers with very sharp thorns," Elphinstone informed her. Then with his dark eyes twinkling, he added, "Much like I remind you of your students, hopelessly infatuated with you."

A few more kisses were exchanged and Finn gently pointed out the way to Hogwarts.

"Late, Professor McGonagall. Ten points from Gryffindor!"

She was in the middle of Third Year Transfiguration when the Headmaster entered the room. There were two Aurors with him…. one was dark skinned… earring… one of her former students though she couldn't quite place him, the other was John Prescott, one of her Lions.

"Class, I need to speak with Professor McGonagall. You're all excused," Albus commanded.

His normally whimsical façade was gone. No, he appeared sober… serious… like someone had died. Someone dear to him. Her knees became weak requiring her to heavily sit down, fortunately while her students stampeded out. She had long learned from her mother not to display the faintest sign of weakness in front of others. While it wasn't weakness to admit that in her heart, she feared something had happened to Finn. He was older... no... it couldn't be Finn.

"Finn?" She whispered.

"Minerva, I'm afraid that there's been an incident and Elphinstone…. is dead," Albus began.

"_**Incident?**_" Minerva protested in a disbelieving tone. "_**Incident? Finn?**_"

"Kingsley, if you would, please," requested Alastor.

"Professor McGonagall, Mr. Urquart," Kingsley began.

"Skip the titles, Auror. Get to the point." Her God-given ability to frighten former students was a gift from the Reverend Robert McGonagall.

"He received a package today from Hobart's Herbology," began Kingsley. There was an exchange of meaningful looks between Kingsley and Albus which irked Minerva. "It was an order for a Class C non-tradeable substance."

"He was expecting a rose bush today," Minerva explained. "I didn't realise that the Ministry had made a decree against owning rose bushes. That an Auror would be sent to arrest him for possession of an illegal rose bush."

"It was a Venomous Tentacula, Professor." Kingsley explained. "A neighbour heard what happened... and he contacted Hogwarts, the Healers and the Aurors. It was too late for Mr. Urquart. From what the Healers assured me, it was quick."

"No, Finn's highly allergic to that plant. He never would have ordered it, never would have transposed the numbers as he was methodical. Hobart's sent the wrong bloody plant even though Finn didn't have Ministry clearance to raise that plant. I'm going home." Instinctively, she reached toward the small box in her pocket.

Again there was the sideways glance between the two men.

"Prescott, check Hobart's," Kingsley requested. The Auror left and then Kingsley turned his back giving the two of them privacy. A somber Albus held out his hand.

"Minerva, give me the Time Turner, please. I know you still have it and that you used it this morning to arrive on time."

"No, I won't. There's still time. I can go back. I can save him," she quietly insisted. "Destroy the package before it arrives. Waylay him into ignoring the bloody box."

"You can't do that, Minerva."

"He's not important to anyone except for me. If he lives for a few more hours, a few more years, it matters not in the grand scheme of things," protested a slowly unraveling Minerva. "It matters only to _**me**_."

"Minerva; would that I could, but I cannot permit this," Albus quietly said. "You know how much I would give to take back that one hour in my life."

"But he's _**not**_ important. He hasn't defeated a Dark Wizard. He's just a quiet man who loves… loved… his roses," protested Minerva. "He's only important to me."

Albus embraced her then and she uncontrollably wept. For Finn's death, for all that wasted time.


	2. Chapter 2

– 1994 –

Kingsley arrived at Alastor's cottage, from habit, easily bypassing the three wards but stopped when he noticed that a fourth ward was trembling slightly. He closely examined it, decided that perhaps Moody's paranoia was rubbing off on him, as it appeared to have been disturbed by a hapless butterfly.

"Professor Moody," he greeted Alastor.

"Kingsley, why are you stopping by?" was Alastor's curt response. He was sitting on the lid of his seven layer trunk and appearing quite pleased with himself. His face was twitched in a slight smile.

"Figured I'd see if you needed any help getting your kit to Hogwarts. Maybe one last bounce on the mattress before you go all Professorial on me," teased Kingsley.

"No more mattress bouncing in our future, Kingsley. At least, not for the two of us at least," Moody announced. "I plan on plenty of mattress bouncing once I get to Hogwarts."

"I really don't believe that with your face you'll be seducing students, Alastor," Kingsley stated. He was off-centre, wondering what was happening.

"Look, Kingsley, cleaner breaks heal faster, so listen to me. I'll speak slowly. It's over between us," announced Alastor. "Don't look like a heartbroken girl, Kingsley. You knew that this has been a matter of convenience between us. And it's time to end it."

_**What? Where the hell had this come from? Yes, the maddening, contrary Moody had become more introspective after being asked to serve as the Latest Doomed Teacher of Defence. He had spent most of his free time working on a curriculum. However, there had been plenty of shagging. More than the usual amount, in fact. So much sex that Kingsley's hip bothered him when his feet first hit the floor in the morning. **_

"Who are you and what have you done with the real Alastor Moody?" Kingsley questioned. "Because you look like Alastor, but you're not acting like him."

Alastor's eyes narrowed and he shook his head. He kicked the trunk with his good leg and then stood, pivoting towards Kingsley.

"It was just sex, Kingsley. A great deal of, truth be told, mediocre sex," Alastor stated. "Really, let's end this on good terms. Don't be so clingy."

"Clingy?" Kingsley repeated.

"_**Needy?**_" Alastor suggested with a sneer. "Try to leave with your head held high, Kingsley."

That disparaging comment was priceless coming from Moody. Kingsley had stuck with Alastor through thick and thin; even through Alastor's dark depression after losing his leg and his eye, after Rufus had 'retired' him from the Auror Corps, they had muddled through together. Yet Kingsley had always been nagged by the thought that Alastor had Bonded with his partner Gareth Bones, but Alastor had never broached the subject with him.

"Are you _**sober**_?" Kingsley asked. Yes a fall would explain Alastor's behaviour. A fall would cause a head injury which would explain the personality change, while a fall off the broom would explain so much more.

A deeply offended Alastor narrowed his good eye and glared at him balefully.

"I'm not an alcoholic," Alastor growled.

"No, he's not," Albus Dumbledore inserted.

Albus Dumbledore? When the hell had he arrived? More importantly where had he appeared from?_** Because **__**Albus Dumbledore was nonchalantly walking from the bedroom, busy tucking himself in. He was wearing Alastor's ridiculously too large jimjams! **_

Alastor and Albus did a quick peck on the lips and then Albus turned to Kingsley.

"Naughty Alastor, you didn't tell me that we had company. I would have dressed in something suitable for entertaining… guests…" Albus Dumbledore stated in a disapproving tone. "Tea, Kingsley?"

"No tea, Albus. This isn't Madam Puddifoot's Tea Shop. Look, Kingsley, I tried to be kind," Alastor rumbled. "Since I'll be at Hogwarts, a hallway away from my old friend Albus… who needs you? You've always been nothing more than a diversion. A short-wanded diversion. Really, those rumours about you Carrib wizards and your wands… well you're living proof that it just isn't so."

Kingsley stopped cold.

"You're an idiot, Kingsley, a gormless idiot," Alastor continued. "You were always fixated on your competition being Gareth Bones, but it was Albus Dumbledore all along."

"Albus Dumbledore?" repeated Kingsley.

Albus smiled a bright smile and Kingsley was possessed by the overwhelming urge to point Albus' nose in another direction.

"_**Albus Dumbledore?" **_He repeated.

It made sense in an off-kilter, illegal potion induced spark of confused comprehension.

_**Only reason I'm doing this is because Dumbledore asked me. Teaching snot nosed brats… God, it is as bad as teaching Auror trainees! **_

Kingsley then left Alastor's cottage in a rather noisy Disapparation.

Barty Crouch, Junior as Alastor Moody, waited for a long count of twenty five before he spit on the floor. He then slapped Albus Dumbledore hard. "Oi! Wormtail! Was it necessary for you to kiss me? On the lips!"

Albus Dumbledore waved one four fingered hand.

"Stop whinging. Least I didn't slip you some tongue," Peter Pettigrew stated while "Alastor" shuddered. "I feared for a moment there I'd have to play the pink oboe as Shacklebolt wasn't buying your act. He didn't believe you as he thought you were drunk."

Barty kicked the trunk again.

"It's that damn Alastor Moody. He's refusing to give me all the information I need to successfully be him. Let's see how strong he is once the shakes start."

– 1995 – Post reveal of Alastor Moody's extended vacation in a trunk.

"Arthur, please get Kingsley Shacklebolt here," requested a somber Albus Dumbledore. "You'll have to explain the situation to him. Repeatedly. He may not come, but please, convince him."

Arthur Weasley nodded his head.

Kingsley Shacklebolt walked to the Hogwarts Infirmary. He kept his face impassive, but inwardly, he was self-flagellating himself until his soul was shredded and bloody.

"_Who are you and what have you done with the real Alastor Moody?" Kingsley asked. "Because you look like Alastor, but you're not acting like him."_

_**He should have known. **_

A wild-haired, wild-eyed Alastor Moody was sitting in a hospital bed. He had his wand grasped tightly in one hand. Albus Dumbledore, who had never, _**ever**_ been Alastor Moody's lover, was sitting next to the former Auror. Albus seemed to be holding an unraveling Alastor together with a few bandages and Spellotape.

"Prove you're Kingsley," Alastor growled. "Explain to me if you're the real Kingsley, how you didn't know that_** I WAS IN MY TRUNK!**_"

"There's no excuse," Kingsley stated. "He fooled me into thinking he was you. He was utterly convincing."

"What did he say? Did you _**bed**_ him?" Alastor was melting down like an overheated copper cauldron before his very eyes and Kingsley shook his head. "How did you _**bugger**_ him for the _**last**_ year and not know it wasn't me!"

"Albus, please leave." Kingsley waited until Albus left the room. "I didn't bugger him for the last year. He and I were not on speaking terms, Alastor. He broke off our relationship."

"You let him? You said, it's been fifteen bloody years, I'm just packing my kit and leaving?"

"He convinced me that I meant nothing to you." Kingsley stated that with quiet dignity.

"_**And you believed hiM! FIFTEEN YEARS MEANT NOTHING TO YOU! I was in the trunk….**_" thundered Alastor. Then in a softer voice, the old Auror continued, "I prayed to God that you'd realise he wasn't me. I couldn't have a drink… he wouldn't give me anything… And there were things… crawling on my skin… I tore at my flesh until I bled… and… He promised me Firewhiskey… if I told him… what he needed to know… "

"Budge over," ordered Kingsley.

"How do I know it's you? The Kingsley I knew… I thought I knew…" Alastor mumbled. His shoulders slumped.

Kingsley sat on the bed next to Alastor and he put his arm around Alastor.

"Alastor Moody sleeps on the right side of the bed. He has a St. Michael pendant that has been in his family for hundreds of years…"

– Summer 1995 –

Minerva McGonagall wasn't expecting a visitor at the Scottish cottage that she was using as her summer retreat. If she had been anticipating a visitor, never in a thousand years would that visitor at her front door be… Amelia Bones.

"Hello, Minerva."

Damn it, it wasn't fair. Amelia had gotten handsomer through the years. Possessing too strong a jaw to ever be considered pretty, Amelia Bones was still a striking witch.

"Will you let me in? It _**is**_ raining," Amelia stated. Her monocle was foggy and Minerva was gloating that Amelia looked a bit rough.

"I'm given to understanding that it happens quite frequently in Scotland," retorted Minerva, not moving a single solitary step. She kept the door between them. "I understand that it occurs with great frequency in London, also."

"Minerva, I really need to talk to you. I desire to understand the entire Alastor Moody in a trunk incident."

"Didn't you read the official Ministry version?" Minerva's tone conveyed what she thought of that tripe. "Really, why do you care what a bunch of vigilantes think?"

"I wish to know the truth of it," insisted Amelia.

Against her better judgment, Minerva let her in. "I'll get you a cuppa," she offered.

"Splash of milk…"

"I remember," Minerva softly stated.

She returned to find Amelia examining a photo of Finn in his wedding robes. That… _**violation**_… upset Minerva as she put the tea tray down harder than she should, uncaring of her lack of decorum. Quickly, she took the photo away from Amelia and she placed it against her heart.

"Minerva," Amelia gently chided.

"You never liked him," Minerva reminded her ex. "I fail to understand why you wish to gaze upon his picture."

"I was a stroppy cow, Minerva. I was jealous and terrified about losing you to him because he absolutely adored you. And thanks to my stupidity, I fulfilled my worst nightmare by pushing you away. He was a lovely soul, Minerva. When he died, my heart broke for you."

Minerva's eyes narrowed and then she reached for her wand. After recent events, it was always hiding in her sleeve.

"Prove to me that you're Amelia Bones," she ordered.

"Now you're sounding like a sober Alastor Moody," stated the person who seemed to be Amelia Bones but most assuredly wasn't. "And no, that's not a compliment."

Well, that sounded like Amelia.

"Prove who you are," ordered Minerva.

"Our first time was in Professor Dumbledore's classroom when we had detention. _**You**_ seduced _**me**_," Amelia stated.

"_**You**_ seduced _**me**_, I was busy cutting roots for our detention," protested Minerva. "Which family members of Amelia's did I meet?"

"None through me," Amelia admitted. "You met Edgar and my father on your own."

"Because Amelia Bones was too ashamed to introduce me. Tell me more; I'm still not convinced you're really Amelia."

"When you finally came to your senses and agreed to marry Elphinstone, he informed me. He thought it would be best if I heard the news from him. Perhaps, it was from a sense of noblesse oblige, an example of his general decency. He wished to cushion the crushing blow, rather than having me read about the nuptials. I handled his kindheartedness in my usual superb manner, accusing him of gloating in having won the spoils of our private little war."

Amelia paused and then she softly continued, "Elphinstone just shook his head, claiming that there could be no victor in a disagreement that caused you and I to no longer be friends. He assured me that he would spoil you every chance he could, because we both knew that you deserved it. I couldn't argue with his logic, so instead I scriked like the utter berk I am. He handed me a freshly pressed handkerchief and let me cry on his shoulder until he was quite damp."

Minerva sat down then and put her hand to her heart. She required a moment to compose herself because that compassionate gesture was just… so… Finn, that her grief threatened to reawaken.

"You never knew?" Amelia softly asked.

Minerva slowly shook her head.

"When I saw the article that he had passed, I worried for you. And I'm still worried for you, Minerva." Amelia was quite intense in her manner. "If it's true, that You Know Who is back, I know you will be part of Albus Dumbledore's Vigilantes. You will get yourself _**killed**_, Minerva. I fear for you, Minerva, and I truly fear for Susan. I look at her, and I see… _**Edgar**_. However, Susan is not as resilient as Edgar and she doesn't possess my father's strength of conviction. She's a child, Minerva! A child!"

Yes, this woman was Amelia. No Death Eater would be able to convincingly sound that worried about Susan.

"Susan is only fifteen years old. She needs to grow and develop into the woman she will become. You can't compare her to your father or your brother and deem her lacking, because that's simply not fair. She's a Bones, through and through. She has your father's compassion and your brother's wand. Susan may need to grow into it, but Ollivander himself said it was a true soul match between witch and wand. For what it's worth, _**yes**_, I keep an eye out on her," Minerva assured Susan's Aunt. "And next year, I will do even more. For as long as I am at Hogwarts, I will do everything I can to shield her. I do this for your father, for your brother and for you. Most importantly, I do it for her. We nearly lost a complete generation thanks to You Know Who's followers last time. Our world can ill afford losing another generation of our youth."

Amelia sat down heavily then.

"He's back," she said. "You truly believe he's back."

"I don't believe it. I _**know**_ he's back." Minerva said that with conviction. That horrid confession voice, Minerva unexpectedly realised how old she was. She was older than Finn had been when she had first worked for him. She was far too old for another war! Yet who from the old Order was still around to fight?

Sturgis?

Alastor?

Remus?

Sirius Black? God help them all!

The other witch stared into the distance and then touched her father's Senior Auror badge that she wore on a chain around her neck.

"The war is looming. I must prepare, as no doubt they will come after me," Amelia stated. She held up one hand to silence Minerva. "No, I will not join your Vigilantes, Minerva. There is much I can do in the Ministry, and I can do more if I'm not seen as a pawn of Dumbledore."

"I'd like to see someone call me a pawn of Dumbledore," snapped Minerva.

"They're fools," was Amelia's response. She stood then and nodded her head. "Thank you for the conversation. And Elphinstone, you can come back to your portrait. Do you really think I wouldn't notice the large portrait that has an empty chair?"

A young, dark haired Elphinstone returned back to his chair. He had a large tome in one hand and a drink in the other. "Just getting something to read, dearest Amelia."

Amelia snorted.

"Besides, you two needed to talk," the portrait stated. "In fact, I hoped that you two ladies would kiss and make up."

"_**Finn!**_" Minerva protested.

"I always wanted you to be happy, Minerva. I bore no jealousy for your relationship with Amelia," Finn's portrait reminded her. Then with his slightly crooked smile, he admitted, "Well, after we were married that is."

"I'll see myself out," Amelia announced. A smart witch, she did not desire to come between a husband and his wife. Even if one was a portrait.

"Finn!" Minerva repeated after Amelia had quickly retreated.

"She still cares for you, Minerva. She came here…." Finn began.

"To gain intelligence," was her lightning retort.

"Because she is terrified that she will be forced to relive a very dark time in her life. Amelia desired comfort and camaraderie and she came to you, Minerva," her husband reminded her. "For the brightest witch of your age…"

"Remarks about my age are not appreciated," sniped Minerva.

"You are remarkably _**THICK**_ when it comes to romance."

"And now a comment about my weight," Minerva enunciated.

"You think it's happening again, don't you?" her husband asked.

"I know it's happening again. It feels the same… but it's different this time," she admitted.

"How is it different, love?"

"I'm so much older now and you're not here with me. You were my rock."

"I'm always with you, Minerva. You wear my ring on a chain around your neck. You have the memories of our time together but you need more, love. If she approaches you again, don't push her away. Let bygones be bygones. You were both much younger then, and the young feel so deeply. They do not see with the eyes of the elderly."

"You are endeavoring to be made into kindling," snapped Minerva.

"Minerva." His gentle chastisement made her eyes fill with tears.

"I'm terribly, terribly frightened," she admitted.

– 1995 –

"Minerva, I'm reassembling the Order," Albus Dumbledore informed her. "Is there anyone you think I should approach? It will be odd… not to have a Bones in the Order."

Minerva read the all too short list of Former Order Members that were Currently Alive and Able to Function in Polite Society, then perused the even scantier list of potential new members and she shook her head.

"She won't do it," Minerva reminded him. "She agrees that it's undeniable that You Know Who is back. However, she does blame several deaths on them being vigilantes. However, Alastor? _**Alastor Moody?"**_

"Do you deny him the right to fight?" Albus questioned. His tone was free from censure but Minerva heard his disapproval.

"Is he even sane?" Someone had to be the pragmatic soul.

"Look at the list, Minerva. I'm an old man. If I die, who will take over from me? You are my second in everything, Minerva, but I know you do not have the stomach to do what I've done. I would not put you into that position of having to make those choices. Look at the list, Minerva. Really, truly look at it. I have Remus, Sirius, Arthur and Molly, my brother… But who will lead the Order into battle if I am dead? I will need you here at the school to keep the children safe."

"I'm sober, for one," Minerva reminded Albus.

"He's been dry as a bone since he went into the trunk," Albus stated.

"Sometimes, Albus, I feel that you _**insist**_ on looking for the best in people," Minerva said. "Don't you ever get eye strain?"

"No, I just insist on looking for the _**best people**_, their sterling qualities evident to the naked eye," stressed Albus. "For an example, a Transfiguration professor, barely two years post Hogwarts."

"Simply surprising how that is trotted out every time I disagree with you on a personnel matter," was Minerva's wry retort.

"I'm nothing if not predictable," Albus began.

"Seriously, do you believe that Alastor Moody will remain on the broom if anything happens to you?" Minerva interrupted.

"Kingsley will keep him on the straight and narrow," stated Albus.

"Kingsley and Alastor? Isn't _**Alastor**_…." Minerva clenched her mouth shut.

"Yes, he's celebrated his centurial while in his trunk, and I believe… Kingsley finished here in seventy three… He was one of your first students wasn't he?" The twinkle is in his eye was aflutter with inner amusement.

"He wasn't, as you well know. If you _**insist**_ on being a snarky queen, don't do it by halfsies," growled Minerva. "Well, I suppose Kingsley doesn't anticipate much out of Alastor, with him being a century. I understand after ninety, it's amazing if it still works."

A wintry smile and Albus mock winced.

"Witches don't have that problem," she added helpfully.

"I'll take your word for it as I lack any true experience with mature witches."

"So being Alastor's partner in all ways? Is that the reason Kingsley Shacklebolt has been added to the list of possible new Order members?" Minerva decided that she really should get back onto the straight and narrow path. "He was Slytherin when he was here."

"As was Alastor," Albus reminded her. "No, I need someone in the Ministry. Nymphadora Tonks is also another candidate."

Minerva winced as she remembered full well how klutzy Tonks was. Filius Flitwick had advised his fellow professors that they were just to deal with Tonks' clumsiness with patience and latitude. 'Adolescence is a time when our students are getting used to their adult form, so it's only natural that a Metamorphmagus would have twice the difficulty that the average static student would have.'

"Her shape changing skills would be useful, but… she was a walking disaster when she was here. I doubt three years have changed that," Minerva said.

"Alastor thought highly of her during her training," Albus said. "Really, Minerva, I understand that you don't approve of Alastor, but must you make those faces?"

"I'm frightened, Albus. Well and truly frightened. We lost so many good people last time; Caradoc, Fabien and Gideon, Benjy and Marlene. Who do we have now? A retired Auror who's missing a few body parts and has a history of a drinking problem? Whose sanity is questionable? A housewife? Two members that are at each other's throats? Remus cannot be trusted with the role of keeping Sirius and Severus separate. We need a dozen whole bodied Aurors, a row of the Wizengamot…"

"Minerva," Albus's voice was quite soft. "It is the quality of one's convictions that determines success, not the number of followers. However, I must confess that I wish we had hundreds on our side."

– 1995 –

The First Order of the Reconstituted Order of the Phoenix.

Alastor was nervy, almost jumping out of his skin and Kingsley kept touching him to calm him down. He kept his attempts at re-centering Alastor barely noticeable, just a tap on his good knee or accidental touch of his hand. It wasn't as though Kingsley was calm either . That entire top secret organization issue.

He knew most of the organization, though Alastor had fortunately forearmed him with the truth regarding the infamous Sirius Black. When the man had sauntered into the room acting like he owned the place, well, he did as they were currently at Number 12, Grimmauld Place, it had taken all of his faith in Alastor not to arrest him.

Kingsley nodded an acknowledgement to Tonks, who gave him a wide, feral smile. Kingsley and Tonks had been lovers, briefly, during the Era of the Boxed Alastor, and he was still quite fond of her. Though he hoped Alastor never knew about their affair because Alastor would probably want to know all the details regarding Metamorphmagical sex. Really, Moody would be disappointed to know that there wasn't much difference, just that if you did things all proper like, then Tonks' hair would change colours. Some partners were quiet, others were screamers, Tonks' hair flashed a brilliant scarlet and then faded to blue in the afterglow. Today, her hair was a hot pink spiky mess and he once again marveled at her joie de vivre. Oh to be young again, young and exuberant like Tonks. Then again, Kingsley had never had been that carefree even as a Hogwarts student.

Being a proper gent, he offered a chair to Molly Weasley and spoke briefly to Arthur. However, he said not a word to Remus Lupin, though he noticed that the werewolf seemed quite smitten with Tonks. Remus noticed that Kingsley saw that he was looking Tonks in _**that**_ way, so Kingsley glared, a subtle warning that he'd have both eyes on the werewolf. The werewolf flushed and turned to face Sirius Black.

Tonks noticed too, and she shook her head in mock disapproval. Their relationship had mellowed from friends with excellent benefits to a brother/sister relationship. Since Kingsley was the big brother, he'd keep an eye out on possible suitors, especially a werewolf that was best friends with one Sirius Black.

There was the sound of an avalanche rumbling down a mountain which meant Alastor Moody had noticed Minerva McGonagall's arrival. Kingsley wasn't sure what caused the bad blood between them, but he knew full well if the two of them never saw each other again, they'd be delighted. Perhaps it was because Alastor was a Pure Blooded Irish Catholic while Minerva was a Half Blooded Scottish Protestant. Because Alastor was Slytherin down to his emerald coloured scanties. Or just because they were two stubborn gits.

As for Minerva McGonagall, she had been his professor way back when he was a shy boy just off the boat. He had ended up in Slytherin House because of his ambition to prove himself, but he had rapidly learnt that most Slytherins' ambitions were not balanced by anything resembling humanity. Professor McGonagall had always done her best to treat the Hogwarts Horde equally regardless of House affiliation, but an observant Kingsley had noticed.

Albus Dumbledore swept into the room, his barmy, badly dressed eccentric persona fortunately dropped for this meeting. Instead in its place, was the Defeater of Gellert.

"If anyone has any concerns about this, now is the time to leave," Dumbledore announced.

"I notice Snivelous isn't here," snarked Sirius Black.

There were a few grumbles around the table, whether of agreement or disgust with Sirius's attitude, Kingsley couldn't tell. But he did notice that he and Alastor were the only two Slytherins invited.

– 1995 – Amelia Bones

Their relationship, such as it was, restarted slowly. An accidental meeting in London led to tea, a proper tea, with each witch sitting on the opposite side of the table.

"Well, what should we discuss? London's weather is the same as it always has been and I know politics is the Fourth Unforgivable." Amelia was quite droll while a disapproving Minerva wrinkled her nose. "Tell me about Elphinstone."

"Finn? You desire to talk about Finn?" Minerva repeated as she believed that she didn't hear Amelia correctly.

"Yes, please tell me about Finn. I know nothing about him except I was horribly jealous of him. Was Finn his nickname?" Amelia prompted.

"Yes. Finn… loved… his rose garden," Minerva said. She paused for a moment, needing to compose herself.

"You gave the cottage to your nephew," Amelia commented. "Does he still have the rose garden?"

"He says he does," Minerva slowly admitted. "I asked him to keep it for Finn."

"You've never gone back?"

Minerva shook her head. "I can't go to the Hogwarts greenhouses without preparing myself. One time, there was a fight…. In the greenhouse… and the students got too close to that… that… _**monstrosity**_ of a plant."

"How do you and Pomona get along?" Amelia asked.

"Fine, though she gave me yellow roses as a thank you. Needless to say, I fortunately had some of Horace's secret stash in order to sleep that night. He had given it to me after Finn had died, and I had kept some of it in reserve."

Left unsaid was that it hadn't worked and she had wept herself to sleep, clutching one of Finn's old shirts.

"You used to like roses," protested Amelia. "I remember you had a small pot of blooms in our flat. They were from Mr. Urquart when he realised you were fond of them."

For the first time, there was no hidden meaning, no sly comments about Finn.

"I used to love them, actually, as my mother had them outside our house. My father planted them for her when they were first married. I had mentioned in passing one day to Finn how I missed seeing roses in London, so he brought them in for me. A perfectly respectful colour, I seem to recall."

"They were burgundy which means 'unconscious beauty' in the language of flowers," Amelia reminded her.

"Our office was quite warm. I had a tendency of becoming drowsy after teatime," was all Minerva would admit. She was Scottish Protestant to her very bones, so she would never believe herself striking, attractive or anything more than… perhaps _**pretty**_.

Finn had declared her beautiful, but … well… his opinion was suspect. Especially when it had been the night of their engagement and they had just shared their first of many proper kisses.

Amelia laughed, her warm mellow laugh surprising Minerva.

"You just don't understand how truly remarkable you are. Finn was simply mad about you and he grew his flowers to court you. And yet, you don't have any flowers in your boudoir. We must get you some." Amelia then nodded her head. "Burgundy. Come let us go and find you roses, Minerva."

Minerva returned back to Hogwarts with a container full of burgundy roses. Finn nodded his approval from his portrait and suggested that she put them by the eastern window in her bedroom. While she was in her bedroom, Amelia looked at Finn's portrait.

"I'm sorry, Elphinstone," she quietly said.

"It's in the past, dear. I never held a grudge when I lived, so why now?" was his surprising answer. "Make her happy, Amelia. Make her smile."

"It's not that…. It is… but it's not all," explained Amelia. "You made me promise when you married her, that if anything happened to you, I'd be there for her… but I didn't wish to swoop in after your death… and… I still haven't found your murderer. Does she suspect it wasn't just rotten luck and bad penmanship?"

"No," he said. "And she doesn't know that they were actually after her. Now, planning on staying the night with Minerva, Amelia?"

"Elphinstone!" protested Amelia.

"Amelia!" parroted the portrait. "It's ok. I'm _**dead**_, Amelia. Make her happy. You promised me you would though I'm rather vexed. It's taken you far too long to do so! Now, I'll go play poker with a few of the portraits on the second floor and won't be back until tomorrow morning. Late."

Minerva returned to find her husband gone and Amelia Bones biting her lip. It was a nervous habit of Amelia's, one that Minerva had almost forgotten.

"Don't bite your lip," Minerva chastised. She put her finger on Amelia's lip to stop her self-mutilation. "What's bothering you, Amelia?"

"I've never stopped loving you," Amelia admitted.

"Oh," Minerva said. She sat down then and began to chuckle.

"You think it's funny?"

"I just was thinking the very same thing, as Finn had just pointed it out to me earlier today," Minerva admitted. "It doesn't mean that I didn't love Finn, for I did and I still do. And he knows that. Now that we've admitted it though, what next?"

"You should kiss her," suggested Finn the Portrait, who had apparently returned back to the scene of the crime. Whether it was directed to his widow or her first love was debatable.

"Elphinstone Naughton Eachann Urquart!" Minerva enunciated.

"I'm _**leaving**_! Not _**watching**_!" the portrait assured them. "I just forgot my poker chips."

He left, complete with the sound of a painted door slamming in his haste to egress.

The two witches looked at each other and Minerva leaned in to kiss Amelia. It was a brief kiss and Minerva then pulled away.

"You know how I am," Minerva explained.

"I know; your considering nature is one of many things I love about you. We'll take this as slow as you deem necessary, Minerva," promised Amelia.

"Thank you," was all she said, but fortunately Amelia knew her well enough that she didn't need to say more. The two embraced, and that was enough for now.

Minerva McGonagall returned to Hogwarts after a brief trip to her former home. It had taken almost ten years, but she had finally returned back to the rose covered cottage she had once shared with Finn. Her nephew Robert had made some changes, enlarging it into a house instead of a cosy cottage as his horde of children required far more rooms than she and Finn ever had. She had even managed to chat with Phineas 'Finn' McGongall, a precocious toddler for a brief spell.

Not that she didn't like children, or toddlers for that matter. Just whenever someone had called out 'Finn', her heart had leapt, hoping that it was her Finn. It wasn't that there were issues in her current relationship with Amelia, far from it. Everything was absolutely wonderful between them, with a great deal of conversation and other pleasant things.

It was just the reminder of her Finn had been everywhere in the cottage. His rose bushes; including the one from which he had selected roses for their first 'morning after' breakfast; the squeaky floor that he had refused to fix because it always advised when she came home late from Hogwarts so he could put on a spot of tea; the barren patch of land that would never green again as she had hexed the very ground where Finn had fallen.

Her good mood banished when she was met at the door by a subdued Albus Dumbledore and a sombre Kingsley Shacklebolt. Her heart sank as she knew, _**knew**_, what that duo together meant.

"No," she softly protested. Whether to protest Amelia's death or their eyes full of _**compassion**_, because…

"Professor McGonagall, I'd like to speak to you in your office," Albus spoke.

"No, I _**know**_ what the appearance of a black Raven means. Amelia's _**dead**_," snapped Minerva. For a moment, she wondered if she had accidently stepped over a line that she should not have crossed, comparing the dark skinned Kingsley to a raven. Yet, he had been the one to inform her about too many deaths to count; foremost Finn, then Sirius Black and now Amelia. "You're my personal forerunner of fatalities, Kingsley."

Cruel but true as she scored heavily on Kingsley as he blanched. Minerva bit her lip and then shook her head. "My apologies, Kingsley. That was unkind and truly not meant to be so."

"I'm sorry for your loss. Gareth and Edgar were dear friends of mine," he softly stated in his deep voice. "Albus?"

"I'll give her the information," assured Albus. "Check on Alastor."

He nodded and made a hasty escape.

"How did she die?" Minerva asked. She was keeping herself together, but barely. Her hands were tightly clenched as she hugged herself.

_**Finn and now Amelia.**_

"Voldemort got into her quarters. From what Kingsley told me, it appears to have been a no holds barred fight. She was outnumbered but Voldemort lost a dozen of his followers."

"Amelia can hold her head high. She paid Cheron's fee like her father and brother did," Minerva stated.

"Yes," Albus stated. "I've taken the liberty of cancelling your classes for the remainder of the day."

Minerva nodded.

"Minerva…." Albus continued and then stopped. "About Kingsley."

She nodded. Dutifully. And for a wonder, Albus, understanding that she was in no mood for discussion, only softly chastised her with, "He's a good man."

"I wish to return to my quarters," Minerva said. Her composure was in danger of slipping and she did not wish Albus to see her wailing her grief like a banshee. One such lapse had been enough for Minerva and her Presbyterian pride. "I was unkind to him; however, he does have a distressing tendency of appearing when there's been a death. Now, I truly desire to return to my quarters."

Being a stubborn Scot, Minerva made it back to her rooms before she began skriking while Portrait Finn struggled to console her.

"Amelia Bones is dead. He went after her _personally_," Kingsley informed Alastor. The retired Auror bowed his head and then did the sign of the cross.

"The war's well and truly begun then," was what Alastor finally said. He looked… old… and Kingsley realised anew exactly how old Alastor truly was. "He always personally goes after the Bones. With Amelia's death, that leaves Gareth's one son alive then."

"We're watching him, and his daughter, Susan." It was a small reassurance, Kingsley knew, as the Aurors had been supposedly guarding Amelia Bones.

A nod from Alastor and then a long sigh.

"Let's go to bed, Alastor," offered Kingsley. It was only mid-afternoon; barely tea time, but Amelia's death, Minerva's biting comment and Alastor's age had left Kingsley feeling… unsettled, as though time spent with Alastor was becoming more and more precious every single day.

"I'd like that," admitted the older man.

June 1997 – after Dumbledore's death

"Severus Snape murdered Albus," Kingsley repeated to himself as though saying it enough times would cause it to make sense. "Severus Snape _**murdered**_ Albus Dumbledore?"

It didn't make sense to Kingsley. Well, it did, but it most assuredly didn't, because he had watched Severus carefully through the years. The bastard had _**respected**_ Albus, Kingsley knew. Yet the respect had always been tempered by a bittersweet emotion; a mixture of admiration, fear and personal redemption. Yes, Severus Snape, while being a positively rude berk, had only respected two people; Albus Dumbledore and... Minerva McGonagall.

The witch hadn't met his eyes when he arrived at Hogwarts after Albus' murder. And he hadn't made any effort to talk to her because that day, of all days, he couldn't deal with a repeat of their conversation after Amelia Bones' death.

"Kingsley, snap out of it," Moody growled. "Stop picking daisies. Here's my plan on how we'll evacuate Harry from the Dursley's residence."

Kingsley Shacklebolt listened to the plan. Once he had digested the sheer desperation of it all, he opened his mouth to protest that he fly with Mundungus. Because he knew that Dung would bolt and whoever was partnered with him…

"When I fall, you will take over the Order, Kingsley," Alastor explained to his partner. "Forgive me, but there is no one else."

"Alastor, " protested Kingsley.

"Support me in this, Kingsley," was Alastor's sombre request. "Please, support me when I discuss this with the Order. I'll have a problem with Minerva, you know I will. We've never liked each other. Damned if I know what started if off, maybe it's just instinctive, but she's got the majority of the Order under the thumb. Fear of detention and what naught. I'll need your support if she raises any concerns."

"It's _**suicide**_, Alastor," Kingsley insisted. At the bleak look in Alastor's good eye, Kingsley realised the bitter truth. That Alastor Moody had been more profoundly affected by Albus Dumbledore's death than he had admitted to Kingsley, because the seemingly resolute Alastor Moody had just given up. Oh, yes, he herded the troops with his unique mixture of tough love and growled obscenities, and he made plans, glorious, magnificent plans, but Alastor Moody was just going through the motions.

Because he didn't think he had a chance in hell of beating Voldemort.

"I'm _**tired**_, Kingsley. I'm too old for this," protested Alastor. "I'm hurt and I ache. I'd like to rest, Kingsley. Put the burden down at last. Don't let the others know. Let them _**hope**_, please. I'm sorry, Kingsley. I just can't do this anymore."

July 27 1997 – Moody

Minerva McGonagall wasn't expecting Kingsley Shacklebolt at her summer cottage. It had been securely Veiled and made Student Proof by Filius Flitwick, so that meant most of the inhabitants of the modern, magical United Kingdom. Which also meant Kingsley should not have been able to locate her, but yet he had.

"Was Harry successfully relocated?" Minerva questioned.

A sombre Kingsley nodded his head.

"As you can guess by my appearance at your doorstep, I must inform you of one who has fallen in battle. Alastor Moody is dead," he informed her. Kingsley made no attempt to cushion the blow so the emotional hit was akin to Kingsley punching her in the belly. "It has been suggested by the remaining Order members that I be put in charge of the Order. While your negative vote would not be sufficient to change the outcome of my selection, I would hope you would agree because at this time, we must be working in unity."

"Kingsley," was her weak protest.

"You did not hide your dislike of Alastor. As I am Alastor's protégé and partner…." At that comment, Kingsley's self-control slipped but only slightly. He repeated once again in a stronger voice, "As I was Alastor's protégé and partner…"

For a moment, Minerva was tempted to give Kingsley the rough side of her tongue, for daring to doubt her impartiality. Fortunately, no doubt due to celestial prompting, she remembered how emotionally raw she had been after Finn's death and how she been less than pleasant to Kingsley. The Auror was shell-shocked and grieving, so it was best not to pay any mind to his comments.

And really, she was holding herself together through sheer Scottish determination, Spellotape and circumspect administration of single malt liquor. What with the war, she hadn't permitted herself to properly mourn Amelia or Albus... and now Alastor. While she never particularly liked the man, Albus had thought Alastor the only one capable of marshalling the Order after Albus' death.

"Kingsley, I vote 'yes'."

He nodded once.

Reaching up to him, she placed the back of her hand against his cheek.

"I am sorry about Alastor, Kingsley. I truly am. There was no love lost between the two of us, but I know how much he cared for you."

That comment caused Kingsley's eyes to fill with tears. He jerked away from her, refusing to permit himself any type of balm.

"Thank you. I'll be in touch, I'm sure. I will keep you informed on our losses."

With that dire prediction, Kingsley Disapparated. Permitting herself a long sigh of heartfelt exasperation, Minerva sat down and covered her face with her hands.

"That man is a walking, weeping wound," Finn the Portrait informed Minerva. "Don't you agree, dearest Amelia?"

"Flirtatious Finnie, you know that I've asked you to stop calling me that. It upsets Minerva. See, she's in tears," protested the Painted Amelia. Then in a very serious tone, she added, "But yes, he is grieving. He and Alastor were quite close. My father always thought highly of Kingsley."

Really, why had she agreed when Finn the Portrait had suggested that she add a small representation of Amelia to her collection? The two of them were now the closest of friends, insisting on overseeing their favourite project – that being her.

May 1998 - The Battle of Hogwarts

The battle came to Hogwarts, as Minerva McGonagall knew it would. She fought and fought _**hard**_ to defend her Lions, her Badgers, her Eagles and yes, her Snakes. It was oddly appropriate, the sane, rational part of Minerva's mind commented, that at the end when she was duelling with Voldemort that she was bookended by two Slytherins.

Reminded her of old times, as Albus was a Slytherin to the core, if ever she had known one.

That was her last thought for a while as Voldemort seemed to go crazier than his norm when Bellatrix died. He fired a wild Hex that caught the three of them hard and she knew no more.

When she woke, Kingsley Shacklebolt was standing above her; someone... probably Horace... had put her on a mattress. Thoughtful, that, as she was getting older and was in no condition to play 'Exploding Snap'. She sat up and wished she hadn't, as her head whirled and twirled above her. While she could do without her head twirling about like it was a loon, it was still a good sign, as she highly doubted that Voldemort would have gone to the trouble of keeping her on a mattress.

"Tally?" she asked Kingsley.

"Remus and Dora Lupin, Fred Weasley..." He continued on for far too long and she closed her eyes to give herself a moment in which to grieve. And truth told, to prevent herself from hurling in front of her students. That would never, ever do.

"Hand," she snapped.

He held out his hand and she used it to pull herself up. The dizziness returned but Kingsley Shacklebolt managed to keep her upright.

"Matron Pomfrey, a moment please. She needs to be seen," he commanded.

"Kingsley," Minerva protested. "I'm fine."

"Matron Pomfrey," repeated Kingsley.

"Poppy, I'm fine," insisted Minerva.

"The Minister is quite correct, you need to be examined," Poppy agreed.

"Kingsley, my name is _**Kingsley**_," reminded Minister... _**MINISTER**_... _**MINISTER**_ Shacklebolt? Good lord, how long had she been comatose? Long enough to hold an election? "Now take her to the Infirmary."

"Do I have permission to restrain her?" the Matron asked in what only could be described as a gleeful tone.

"Do what you deem necessary," ordered the Minister. "Filius Flitwick is in charge. He knows enough not to overdo it."

"He'll make a lovely Minster," purred Poppy as Shacklebolt walked away from them.


	3. Chapter 3

It was two weeks prior to Hogwarts' reopening when Minerva received an owl, requesting her presence at the Ministry, specifically Kingsley's... no, the Minister's office. It was the standard, "The Minister requests your presence," owl, but Minerva knew a command performance when it presented itself. She truly didn't have the time as there was so much left undone at the school. She was pouring her heart and soul into repairing Hogwarts, ignoring the multitude of House Elves who wished Headmistress Minerva to please sit and rest.

She didn't wish to sit and rest. For when she was resting, sitting or sleeping, her ghosts haunted her. All the dead students... Albus... Severus... Amelia... Finn... Remus and Dora...

The only thing that kept her spectres at bay was working herself into exhaustion. Therefore, it was safe to say that Headmistress McGonagall, who did not suffer fools gladly, was not happy by the time she made her appearance at the Ministry. To add insult to her injury, she had to cool her heels for a bit, well more than just a bit, with all her assorted ghosts until she had reached the point where she was about to leave with a caustic comment of her time being valuable also. That was when she was motioned in. Minister Shacklebolt's office was done in subdued colours and there was parchment everywhere. He was instructing five assistants at the same time and that done; he then took a seat in his chair. Even though he had the vigour of youth, it appeared that he wasn't having an easy time being Minister.

It was an unkind thought, but she was not feeling charitable as the two of them had gone head to head on the budgeting for repairs, which Kingsley, deciding that with both Minerva and Filius on staff, she didn't need as much funding as she had requested. The budget for rebuilding Magical England was limited and between the two of them, they could Transfigure, Transform and Charm the school back to form!

The other times they met before at various Ministry functions, Kingsley was civil, perfunctory polite. A courteous greeting and then Kingsley would immediately vacate her presence. Well, there would be no easy egress today, as he had called this meeting.

"Mother sent this," advised Percy Weasley as he handed the Minister a heavily laden tray. "She says you need to eat. I am also to ensure that you eat every bite."

"Percy..." protested Kingsley.

"You may be the Minister of Magic, but even you cannot defeat my mother when she has set her mind on something. You were already here when I arrived this morning at five, and I'm not even sure if you left the office last night. "

"Percy, I'm concerned about you being here at five. Don't you think you should spend some time with Audrey? Anyway, leave it on the desk; I'll eat it before my next meeting. Though perhaps I may have it afterwards, I would certainly hate to meet the Hogwarts Headmistress with parsley in my teeth," explained Kingsley. "Wouldn't be proper to appear un-groomed in front of Professor McGonagall. I fear she may give me lines or a tongue lashing."

"No, it wouldn't be proper, indeed," Minerva inserted. "Though considering I've been waiting here for two hours, I'm glad you decided to eat later."

"Percy," Kingsley announced as he made a shooing motion to his assistance. "Tell your mother, thank you. Take a seat, Minerva, we have a problem. We need to get it sorted in five minutes before my next appointment."

"So glad you could spare the time," Minerva retorted. "I can come back when you're less busy. Perhaps after Hogwarts reopens."

"You caused this issue, Headmistress, and you're staying for my next appointment," was Kingsley's retort. He sighed and then rubbed his temples. "Actually, a crazy egomaniac created this mess, you're just getting blamed."

He pointed to a stack of parchment haphazardly perched on a chair.

"That stack of parchment over there... is full of the outraged protestations of the parents of your current Slytherin House members. They feel that you put their little darlings in harm's way by sending them to the dungeons during the midst of the battle at Hogwarts. I've politely reminded them that as a proud product of the Slytherin House, I know that there is an escape route to Hogsmeade which enabled their precious little bundles to make their escape. In fact, I told them that they should be grateful that you showed that much compassion to allow them to escape. That other stack of parchment is from the parents of Gryffindor, Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff complaining about how their children were involved in the battle."

"Ravenclaws have a distressing tendency of verbally skewering their victims. Tell me, why weren't you Ravenclaw?"

She refused to acknowledge his barb; instead she pointed at a much smaller, neatly organized pile.

"And that?" Minerva asked.

"The Muggle parents who lost their children at Hogwarts. I am meeting with Dennis Creevey's parents tomorrow, to once again attempt to convince them to let Dennis attend Hogwarts next term. He may do something rash, I fear. I make an effort to respond to their mail on the same day I receive it."

"Here's the plan, when we meet with the parents, keep your Ravenclaw tongue checked and your Gryffindor claws retracted. I need to convince these people to send their children to Hogwarts, because I worry that they might create a separate school where I won't be able to keep an eye on the curriculum."

That got Minerva's Ravenclaw hackles up; like _**HELL**_ was she letting the Ministry involve themselves with the curriculum at Hogwarts.

"Hackles down," Kingsley calmly stated. "I think I can trust you not to promote the idea that Muggles are animals. Damn it, they're here already, so that means no lunch."

With an easy grace, he gestured and the food disappeared.

"Remember, _**behave**_." At her indignant look, he gave her a pointed jab. "I have first-hand experience of your Ravenclaw tongue."

"_**Minister**_..." she said. Then in a softer tone, as she'd admit that perhaps his comment was not undeserved, and that she had sounded like a boarding school teacher intent on chastising her student. "Kingsley..."

A slight quirk of a smile, "So someone remembers my name."

"They're here."

The meeting went about as well as Minerva had anticipated. In other words, the Slytherin families whinged and moaned about her being in charge of the school. The Minister allowed them their say, pulling them up short when they went far beyond what he deemed to be the bounds of proper behaviour. Minerva would have pulled them up short long before then, but they needed to spew their poison.

Though it was unnerving, truly it was, to hear them voice their concerns about the littlest issues, until they were blown past any sense of proportion.

"Thank you, Mrs. Goyle," Kingsley finally stated after Gregory Goyle's mother repeated the harrowing-you-had-to- be- there-to -actually- believe- that- her- precious- bundle- of- joy- had- been- turned- into- a- slug. "I'm sure that we can chalk that up to boys being boys. I understand that it was quite upsetting to see a very large slug ooze off the train when you were expecting your son. Truly you must admit that you cannot blame her. Especially as Headmistress McGonagall was not on the train; along with her not being in the position of Headmistress, it can only be assumed that Albus Dumbledore was ultimately responsible."

"Well, he's dead!" Mrs. Goyle stated in the most brutal, tactless way imaginable.

"I _**know**_. I recovered his body," Kingsley firmly retorted.

That ended the conversation cold, for which Minerva was eternally grateful.

The various Slytherins were escorted from the room and Minister Shacklebolt firmly closed the door behind them. He leaned his head firmly against it and quietly stated, "Bloody shame that someone didn't throw salt on Goyle the Slug."

Minerva permitted herself a slight twitter.

"Tomorrow, I shall make a universal proclamation that henceforth the Hogwarts Express shall have large containers of salt made available for students. Regardless of House Affiliation."

That announcement was made in a tone that sounded suspiciously like the very puerile Pius Thicknesse, so Minerva laughed. _**Out loud**_. Before she could stop it, a loud, uncontrollable cackle of laughter escaped her. Kingsley's confused expression made her laugh even harder, and she couldn't cease laughing. Really, after all the horrors of the last few years, Mrs. Goyle was focused on the fact that her son had been turned into a SLUG? Minerva laughed like she hadn't laughed in years, since Cedric Diggory had died and to her horror, she couldn't stop.

She started weeping then, her emotional walls made of strong Scottish stone crumbing as she permitted herself to properly express her anger and grief over far too many senseless deaths. Really, it would have been delightful to be so self-absorbed that her main concern was that her son had been turned into a SLUG? To her surprise, Kingsley said not a word; instead he sat next to her, and hesitantly put his arm around her, permitting her to cry until she was utterly empty.

The Dragon Lady was sobbing, and Kingsley Shacklebolt didn't know what to do. One time, when he was younger and the weight of the world wasn't on his weary shoulders, he might have known what was required. No such luck now. So he sat down, and he let her cry on his shoulder until he was quite utterly damp.

Not very ministerial like.

It was unnerving, for Kingsley, to see the Stoic Scot of his Hogwarts Nightmares Scriking.

It was even more unnerving when Kingsley realized that the two of them were kissing.

Alfie the House Elf was quivering in his excitement. Today, for the very first time, he was allowed to prepare the Minister's morning cuppa. He nodded his head as he dutifully repeated his instructions to Lettie the Head Elf, how not to disturb the Minister as he would be awake and reading when Alfie arrived. Proper House Elves would have the tea ready before the Minster woke, but the current Minister had told them not to show up in his quarters before the clock struck four. That been quickly amended to them not showing up until the clock stopped sounding the hour. He carefully took the tray into the Minister's bedroom.

He nearly squeaked and dropped the tray when he realized that the Minister wasn't awake and he wasn't alone! No, there was a _**lady**_ in the _**bed**_ and they had done the innie-outie!

Fortunately, he managed to prevent himself from squeaking out loud as he didn't wish to wake them. Not when the Minister was actually sleeping! Quickly, as Lettie would want details, he set up the warming spell just so, cleaned and pressed both their clothes before hanging them but he could not! Could not! Touch ladies' pants. That was only for female House Elves!

Alfie happily bounced away after ensuring that the Minister and the lady were covered with blankets. He had so much to tell Lettie!

The next morning found Minerva waking, alone, in the Minister of Magic's emperor sized bed. There was a pleasant ache that confirmed that she, yes, in fact, had played co-ed naked Gobstones with Kingsley Shacklebolt... all night long. Her clothes were hanging neatly nearby. Her outerwear had been cleaned, pressed and sorted while her scanties were neatly folded on a chair. Apparently, Kingsley thought that cleaning scanties was best left to the owner.

Good thing too, as he'd probably starch them.

There was a pot of tea on the table next to the chair.

It was rather quiet in Kingsley's bedroom, except for the soft tick tick of the clock, so she turned to face it. To her horror there was a picture of Alastor Moody on the nightstand, and he was shaking his head in mock disapproval. Then, he gave her a lewd wink and blew her a kiss.

"Shut it," she snapped, as she slapped his photograph face down. She sat up and realized that she had been a trifle too over exuberant as she could feel it, in her hips and back. Minerva also had the horrible realization that it was also almost eight in the morning, which meant that she had almost missed breakfast in the Great Hall. It would never ever do! So that is why she grabbed her clothes and Disapparated back to her quarters at Hogwarts.

Because the Headmistress of Hogwarts should not miss breakfast.

It wasn't because she was doing the Disapparation of Disgrace.

Lettie the Head House Elf listened intently to Alfie, how the Minister's lady had left without so much as a cuppa! Really, Mr. Minister's bed would remain lonely if Lettie didn't intervene. She went to the Minister's chambers, twitched her ears for a few moments, pondered the situation and then went with all haste to the Minister's Gardens. With some gentle magical encouragements, she had blooms suitable for post-trysting. Then she gave them to Alfie to deliver.

Minerva McGonagall was nervy as a long tail cat in a house full of rocking chairs. She had returned back to her quarters, refused to confess to the inquisitive portraits where exactly she had spent the previous night, changed her clothes and appeared just in time for breakfast. She was just enjoying her cuppa when there was a soft pop and a young House Elf appeared in the Great Hall. He was wearing the Ministry livery and he was carrying... no... no...no... a large bouquet of arums and green dragons. The House Elf skipped... skipped... SKIPPED... happily to where she was sitting, presented her the bouquet and then disappeared.

"A bouquet of Green dragons," Filius stated in what could only be a considering tone.

"Arums also," added Horace Slughorn. "Delivered by a Ministry clad House Elf."

"And I detect the faintest whiff of coriander," added Pomona.

"Actually considering there are eight Birds of Paradise, it means you had ..." crowed Rolanda.

"It means one thing - that you'll be terminated if you continue this conversation in front of the staff," Minerva hissed.

"I _**thought**_ your back was bothering you earlier today," Poppy stated.

"No!" the oblivious Hagrid had finally figured out the bouquet represented, sex, sex and more sex in the language of flowers. "No!" He announced once more in a soft whisper, which meant he was louder than a dragon's roar. "You take that back. The Headmistress is a proper lady."

Well, the proper lady known as the Headmistress actually wished to Disillusion herself and retreat to her quarters. Instead, with a modicum of pride, combined with her stiff Scottish reserve, (very well - her stiff back), she took the bouquet of flowers and stormed away. Once out of the Great Hall, she handed the flowers to the closest House Elf and requested that they do something with them.

"Do something" with the flowers consisted of putting them on her desk in a very nice vase. Which caused no end of acerbic comments from the dynamic duo Dumbledore and Snape.

"Minerva, what a lovely display of flowers," Dumbledore announced, leading to the perfect set up for Severus Snape's unwanted wit.

"Coriander combined with Arum and Green Dragon. Minerva, Mineva, Minerva...delivered by a Minstry Elf," Severus began. "Apparently you were magnificently insatiable, detailed by the number of Birds of Paradise. I do believe that correlates to the number of...org..."

"Don't," Minerva said. "Just, please, _**don't**_. I beg you."

For additional support, she reached for the necklace she always wore - the one that had her and Finn's wedding ring set along with two gold rings that she and Amelia had worn.

To Minerva's horror, she wasn't wearing it.

Because she had left it in Kingsley's bed.

She put her head down on the desk and just wished for silence. She didn't wish to be reminded that arum, green dragon and coriander represented sex and lust. Nor that the number of Bird of Paradises was a direct one to one relationship to how many orgasms she and Kingsley had experienced. Most importantly, she didn't want to even consider the fact that she'd have to face Kingsley Shacklebolt and request her wedding rings back.

For a wonder, there was complete, blessed silence as she let herself cry.

Sex with Kingsley. What the hell was she _**thinking**_? It had taken six years to proceed to that level with Amelia, two decades with Finn and now... _**Kingsley**_. A crying jag and she was flat on her back with her legs spread wide. After her last tear was shed, a familiar voice spoke from Albus' portrait. No, no, no. She just couldn't deal with anyone, especially him.

"Minerva? Albus came and got the two of us," Finn stated.

"It's just us, as Severus ordered everyone to leave, threatened to burn their portraits if they didn't," Amelia explained. "Whatever is the matter, love?"

She just shook her head and refused to answer.

Kingsley Shacklebolt returned to the scene of the crime. As it was close to nine, he had assumed correctly that Minerva would have left. He noticed that she hadn't any tea, breakfast was untouched, Alastor's picture was face down and she had left her necklace on the nightstand. The necklace caught his eye as there were two sets of matching gold rings and a diamond solitaire.

She had taken the necklace off after he had ensured her climax a second time, before he had taken his own enjoyment...

All in all, the signs were there that this would be an incredibly awkward morning after, because Minerva McGonagall had waked and immediately fled for the hills.

Flowers.

Flowers should be sent.

Nice, pleasant, _**respectful**_ flowers. Tulips were nice. Tulips were good. Tulips were respectable flowers. Maybe a dozen in Gryffindor colours.

"You sent flowers already?" Kingsley asked Lettie, the Head House Elf.

She eagerly nodded her head, anxious to prove to Kingsley how well she had handled the situation. Dimly, Kingsley remembered early on allowing her to handle the social niceties that his position required. And it was an old war injury, not a case of the nerves which caused him to collapse into his chair when he heard WHAT flowers Lettie had sent.

Arum!

Green Dragons!

Coriander!

And eight Birds of Paradise. He was glad that he was dark skinned as he hoped Lettie didn't realize he was blushing. How did the House Elf know _**that**_ number? If it wasn't a lucky guess on her part, hopefully the House Elf would approve that he had ensured that Minerva had the majority of orgasms.

"Lettie do bad?" The House Elf asked. Her big brown eyes filled with tears and her ears went down.

"You did everything _**perfectly**_," he lied, as he couldn't endure a hysterical House Elf, not right now. "Please cancel my appointments for today; I must visit Hogwarts."

Lettie's all too knowing smile looked suspiciously like Alastor's smile – except the House Elf had all her teeth.

"King Master speaking with his lady friend?" Lettie asked. "Lettie ensure special meal tonight."

She nodded happily and the little House Elves began all nodding happily. A few were even dancing in their excitement that the Minister had a lady friend. It seemed that House Elves believed that an unmarried Minister of Magic was an high crime against nature that needed to be immediately rectified.

"I'll let you know," Kingsley decided after a long pause. "I may have a meeting tonight."

Or the Dragon Lady might decide to Hex him

As he feared, Kingsley was refused permission to speak with Minerva McGonagall.

"The Headmistress is in a meeting, and simply cannot be disturbed." "The Headmistress is unsure when the meeting will be concluded so she'll let you know."

Therefore, Kingsley didn't fight fair. He sat in the sitting room and accepted the cuppa that Filius had only, out of an ingrained sense of politeness, had offered while messages were sent to the Headmistress. After her repeated protestations that she was simply too busy to see him, Kingsley agreed to the mere possibility of scheduling a meeting ... perhaps after school reconvened. His easy acquiescence caused Filius' eyebrow to hit his hairline. Before Filius could compose his features, Kingsley decided that he wished to visit the Hall of Heroes.

"Now, I'm sure you don't wish to bother the Headmistress with me wishing to see how the portraits are coming along?"

It was dangerous to attempt to outfox Filius Flitwick whose mind was sharper than Albus. Unlike Albus, who Kingsely truly respected and feared perhaps a little bit, Filius Flitwick's biggest fault was that he was too compassionate.

"You don't need to escort me, Filius," Kingsley offered.

"It's perhaps better that I don't," agreed Filius. In a softer tone, he asked "What exactly happened between you two last night? Leave out the lurid boy – girl stuff. I can read the language of flowers as well as I read Gooblygook."

"Our grief for our losses overwhelmed our good senses," Kingsley offered. "I fear the Headmistress bitterly regrets last night."

"And you?" prompted Filius.

"My only regret is that it appears to have put a further strain on our ... association. I had hoped that she had some enjoyment from my touch..." In a far softer tone, Kingsley admitted to Minerva doing a bunk and leaving behind her wedding rings in her haste to leave his quarters.

Filius pondered what Kingsley said and most importantly what he didn't say, and then finally spoke. "I would offer to take her wedding rings to her, but I fear that it would embarrass her still further. Damn Presbyterian Scots, they're just such sticklers for decorum. If you hope for assistance from the portraits, Elphinstone Urquart is your best ally. The others are all Albus Dumbledore's through and through, but not Finn. He's his own man."

"Talking to her late husband?" Kingsley repeated.

"Is your best bet."

Finn had suggested that Minerva speak with Amelia about what was obviously bothering her.

"She is your closest friend," Finn had explained. "You can speak freely with her. I'll walk around the castle to ensure that no one has decided to slack off in their duties as the Headmistress is taking a holiday. I worry about the Weasleys rebuilding Gryffindor tower. William has good sense but Charles keeps sneaking in a dragon motif on the curtains."

"No," Minerva had weakly protested. After everything that had happened, she didn't wish Finn to think that she no longer loved him. That after replacing him with Amelia, that fickle Minerva had replaced them both with Kingsley Shacklebolt.

And that she had left their rings in his bed!

"You need hen talk, Minerva. Love you, be back soon," Finn offered.

He left his portrait frame empty and Amelia soon appeared in hers with a small jigger of single malt to match the one Minerva had poured for herself.

"I've never seen you in such a state, Minerva," was all Amelia said. "Tell me whatever is the matter and I will absolve you."

"I fear to lose your sweet and kind regard," Minerva admitted.

"What a load of shite," Amelia replied. "Spill it, Minerva."

Therefore Minerva told her everything.

Kingsley Shacklebolt walked into Hall of Heroes and noticed that all the portraits were empty. Even Alastor's, which meant that Albus Dumbledore had gotten to him first.

"I wish to speak with Elphinstone Urquart," he announced. Kingsley Shacklebolt felt like a daft prat talking an empty hall.

Someone entered a portrait. He was tall and slender, with greying hair and sharp brown eyes. There were laugh lines around his eyes, but he appeared quite stern.

"Are you the one that sent my wife that rather brazen display of flowers?" The portrait who could only be Elphinstone Urquart demanded. "Everyone is talking about them and what they represent. A true gentleman would not have been so ostentatious. For Minerva, her reputation is _**everything**_."

There was a loud disagreement from one of the formerly empty frames. It seemed that the Order, off-portrait, was attempting to restrain Alastor Moody from hexing Elphinstone's portrait into the Cubism style.

Kingsley sighed and admitted that Elphinstone was quite correct.

"Alastor, please don't hex Elphinstone's portrait. He's correct, a true gentleman would have preferred to send tulips but his House Elf decided to go big. Elphinstone, I _**must**_ speak to her. Today."

"I know Alastor, however I don't know you," Minerva's husband informed Kingsley. "Your intentions are...?"

"_**Honourable**_!" That was Alastor's roar.

"I would like to hear it from him, _**Alastor**_," was the mild retort.

"Honourable and I _**must**_ return something to her," Kingsley whispered. "It must be done today."

Elphinstone tapped his neck in what only could be a meaningful way, and Kingsley nodded.

"Kingsley, since Alastor arrived in the castle, I have spent many a pleasant hour playing Go with him. Are you familiar with the game?" That was the next volley from Urquart.

"Yes," Kingsley asked. He was utterly perplexed.

"Minerva and I played it when we were married. Perhaps, you could play a game with her every now and then? And remind her about the Ko rule, where players are not allowed to make a move that returns the game to the previous position. That means, I'm telling her that she can't pretend that this didn't happen between you two. I'll return back to her quarters and let her know that you'll be there in a few minutes. Part of the reason Minerva is reacting so badly is because she's physically and emotionally exhausted. She just doesn't have the vigour to emotionally process this latest event, so she's gone to ground."

"Not because I'm a former student?"

"Well, that also." Elphinstone smiled; it was a warm smile with dimples. "Minerva prefers to be the younger one in the relationship."

Minerva told Amelia the entire sordid story. For a wonder, Amelia said nothing until the very end. Instead of speaking, she smoked a fag as she was digesting recent events.

"You're exhausted," Finn announced from his portrait. "Since you two were talking woman to woman, I took the liberty to speak with Kingsley. He's outside the door right now and you need to talk to him. He has your necklace so let him in."

"You spoke to him?" Minerva's voice broke. "You noticed that I wasn't wearing the necklace?"

"Man to man. I wished to determine what type of man would send such a brazen bouquet of blooms. It seemed he wished to send a small sensible spray but his House Elves took it upon themselves."

"I look a fright," protested Minerva - what with her red eyes and wild hair.

"Sooner he's in, the sooner he leaves," announced Amelia. "Finn, you and I must go now. I think Minerva will want some privacy."

The painted betrayers left and at too soon, Kingsley was in her sitting room. He refused her offer of tea, instead he just handed her the necklace.

"Thank you, Minister," was all she could say as he helped her put it around her neck. Her hands were shaking so badly that she couldn't connect the clasp.

"Minister? I'm back to be _**Minister**_? I supposed it could be worse, you could be calling me Mr. Shacklebolt," he gently protested. "After last night, I would hope you would feel comfortable using my first name. If not in public, then in private. Else you're violating the rule of Ko."

"Ko?" Minerva repeated.

"I understand that you're quite the player. We can't close the door on what happened between us, pretend it didn't happen. Unless you have a complaint with my technique?" Kingsley gave her a slight smile before he continued, "Then by all means, please forget as soon as possible."

Minerva sat down then and Kingsley sat down next to her. Slowly, while watching her reaction, he put his arm around her.

"No, you were ... lovely and sweet, and wonderfully attentive. It's just... it's not something I normally do," explained Minerva.

"I can assure you that I don't drop my robes for just anyone," insisted Kingsley. "Both of us were grieving yesterday and it happened. The question is... what now?"

"I don't know," she admitted.

"Well, that's a start. It's better than locking yourself into your quarters and never leaving. Though, recently, I have found the thought tempting at times."

They sat in silence for a bit and then Kingsley noticed the display of flowers. He sat up and stared at them in horrified fascination. It covered half her desk easily and blocked most of the sun from one window.

"That monstrosity is what they sent?" He whispered as though fearful a loud noise would cause the colossus to fall and wipe out the Ravenclaw tower.

Minerva nodded.

"Enthusiastic, aren't they? Darn shame that they haven't managed the concept of understated restraint."

That comment made her laugh and Kingsley gave her a warm smile.

"We will rebuild modern magical England, Minerva. We might make some mistakes along the way, but we'll do our best. That's all we can hope, that we make it better than it was before," Kingsley assured her.

And Minerva smiled, as she knew that he wasn't just talking about England. He was talking about whatever this new relationship was between them. She reached for his hand and gave it a gentle squeeze.

"Agreed."


End file.
